


getting drunk on your noble deeds

by merricats_sugarbowl



Series: emotionally stunted idiots [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Parenting, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Les Amis Family, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4320588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merricats_sugarbowl/pseuds/merricats_sugarbowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“At the beginning, everything is new and exciting, right? It’s all about getting to know each other in a new way. You’re finding out all this stuff about each other and you’re obviously fucking like bunnies, and you think that everything is great and it’s going to be that way forever, but it’s not. One day, something changes, and you wake up in an adult relationship and you have to decide if it’s worth fighting for.”</i>
</p><p>Grantaire fell for Enjolras the moment he saw him, but he never thought they would actually be together. Now, the reality of their relationship is both terrifying and wonderful, and Grantaire's not sure how to hold it all together. Throw in disapproving parents, a secretive Eponine and two friends who can't seem to tell each other how they feel, and it may all just come crashing down.</p><p>(Sequel to You Fight and You Talk)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer's End

**Author's Note:**

> So in my previous fic, it took so long for Enjolras and Grantaire to get together that we didn't get to actually see any adorable relationship moments, and I figured that needed to be rectified. This is, of course, the sequel to You Fight and You Talk, although you don't really need to have read that to understand what's happening here.
> 
> This one is going to be just a little different, but things you can expect include fluffy domestic e/R, some arguments and a lot of Les Amis drama. Way more than in the previous instalment (keep an eye on Eponine, Courf and Jehan especially!)
> 
> Anyway, now that that's out of the way, onto the first chapter!

The night before classes started saw Grantaire at the Corinth with Feuilly, Bahorel, Courfeyrac and Jehan, drinking cocktails to mourn the loss of the summer and celebrate the start of a new school year. The rest of the group were elsewhere; Musichetta, Eponine and Cosette had just finished moving into their new apartment, and declined the offer to go out in favour of staying in with pizza and Netflix. Bossuet was working late, and Joly, like a good student, had announced his intentions of an early night. Grantaire wasn’t sure about Combeferre or Marius, but they were studious types like Joly—he imagined that they were probably tucked up in bed by now, too.

Enjolras, he knew, was in his apartment doing coursework. Classes may not have started yet, but there was no break from work for someone like Enjolras. He’d been at it all summer, despite Grantaire’s best efforts to distract him.

He’d asked Enjolras to come out with them tonight, and although he’d agreed at first, the response had been unenthusiastic. Grantaire had quickly realised that he stood a better chance of staying on good terms with his boyfriend if he relieved him of any pressure to go out, and so he’d kissed Enjolras on the cheek and left him poring over a politics textbook.

_Boyfriend **.**_

It had been two months since their first night together, two months since Grantaire had taken a risk and confessed his feelings to Enjolras, and the word still sent a thrill down his spine.

“You’ve got that look again,” Courfeyrac said reproachfully, nudging Grantaire with his foot under the table. Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“What look?”

“That sickeningly in love look that you’ve been wearing for the past few months,” Courfeyrac said, glaring. “Try and have a little sympathy for us poor singletons, you sap.”

The source of Courfeyrac’s frustration, Grantaire knew, was the long-haired poet to his left. Courfeyrac had been smitten with Jehan for months, and at the beginning of the summer, Grantaire had thought that they might actually get together. Things had certainly seemed to be heading in that direction. But for whatever reason, nothing had happened, and they remained the same friends that they’d always been. Grantaire had yet to ask what exactly had gone wrong. He worried that bringing it up might push Courfeyrac over the edge.

He could spare some sympathy for Courfeyrac. After all, he knew what it was like to be hopelessly in love with a friend and be uncertain of how they felt. He patted Courfeyrac consolingly on the shoulder and got to his feet, digging around in his pocket for cash.

“Shots!” he announced. “That’ll cheer you up.”

When he returned to the table with a tray of bright red shots, he found Feuilly and Bahorel in intense debate about the most recent spoilers for Game of Thrones. They stopped abruptly when Grantaire arrived, eyes lighting up at the tray in his hands. The shots were downed enthusiastically, and just as Grantaire had hoped, Courfeyrac’s smile grew just a little brighter.

The topic of conversation turned to the new school year and what everyone was expecting from it. As an art student, the structure of the academic year wouldn’t change too much for Grantaire—he knew that he would be expected to be slightly more hands-on in relation to his assignments, but at least he didn’t have to worry about finding anywhere to do work experience. He was grateful for that; Bahorel looked miserable as he talked about the law firm where he’d arranged to intern this year.

“Law,” he moaned pitifully, propping his elbow on the table and nearly knocking his beer to the floor in the process. “What was I thinking when I decided to study _law_? You should see this place, there’s cubicles everywhere. I was bored walking in there for my interview. How am I going to survive actually working there?”

Jehan patted him sympathetically on the arm and launched into a speech extolling the virtues of the nine to five working life, although it was clear that his heart wasn’t in it. Unsurprising, considering that he, like Grantaire, had chosen a more non-traditional career path. 

Meanwhile, Grantaire sipped at his drink and mentally catalogued which of his friends were being thrust prematurely into the working world like Bahorel. There was Marius, also studying law, although thanks to his grandfather’s connections, he’d found a placement at a much more prestigious law firm than Bahorel. Grantaire doubted very much that there would be cubicles at Babineaux and Augustin. Combeferre and Joly were doing rotations at various hospitals and nursing homes throughout the city. Eponine was booked for a few days over the next few weeks as a personal assistant at a communications firm. Enjolras had probably found the best work experience out of all of them—he’d secured a place working in Senator Lamarque’s office for a few days a week over the next few months. It was all he’d been talking about for the last week, to Grantaire’s amusement.

“You’re doing it again!” Courfeyrac said, kicking Grantaire under the table. He sighed at Grantaire’s innocent expression. “I liked you so much better when you were single.”

Grantaire simply smiled and steered the conversation back to Game of Thrones. All things considered, it was a more neutral topic.

Usually, they stayed at the Corinth until closing, but after another round of drinks, Feuilly suggested they go home. Bahorel would have been the most likely to protest, but the next day he was expected to drop by the law firm after classes to confirm his schedule, and he glumly agreed that he would make a better first impression if he wasn’t hungover.

They settled the bill and then walked the dark streets together, but Grantaire didn’t split off with Feuilly and Bahorel when they reached the street that led to their apartment. Instead, he walked on with Courfeyrac and Jehan, heading for the apartment that Enjolras shared with Combeferre. It had become a second home to him over these last few weeks, and the thought of spending the night there was infinitely more appealing than returning to his own empty bed and cluttered room. Enjolras was probably still awake, immersed in coursework or planning for the beginning of his work placement.

It didn’t take long to reach Enjolras’s building. Courfeyrac wolf-whistled at him as he fumbled with the front door and he flipped him off, although he was smiling. He stumbled a little as he climbed the stairs, but made it to Enjolras’s door without injuring himself. He leaned against the wood while he rifled through his pocket for his keyring, which now proudly sported a key to Enjolras’s apartment, distinguished from the others on the ring by a thick coating of red glitter nail varnish.

When he let himself in, he found Enjolras curled up on the couch, knees tucked up beneath him and his laptop balanced on the coffee table in front of him. He looked up at Grantaire’s entrance and raised his eyebrows.

“Are you drunk?” he asked. There was something reproachful in his voice.

Grantaire’s drinking habits were still a point of contention between them, and Grantaire suspected that they would continue to be for a long time yet. He was making an effort to change, since Enjolras insisted that he drank too much, but there was no quick fix. That often irritated Enjolras; he seemed to think that Grantaire should be able to decide he was finished with alcohol, and that would be that.

The truth was that it wasn’t that simple. Although he didn’t want to admit it, Grantaire needed alcohol. Quitting and never looking back just wasn’t an option.

Still, he was making progress. A few weeks ago, he would have ended a night like this by blacking out with an empty bottle of wine or two on the floor by his bed. Now, his head was clear, he was walking in a straight line, and although the scent of rum might linger on his breath, he was going to end the night in Enjolras’s bed, wrapped in a tangle of warm, soft limbs.

“Not hardly,” he said in response to Enjolras, coming forward to kiss him on the cheek. He peered at the laptop screen. “What are you working on?”

“I was just making a study plan,” Enjolras said, eyes following Grantaire as he closed the lid of the laptop. “I thought I should get on top of things, since I’m going to be fairly busy at the senator’s office.”

“Hmm,” Grantaire said. “Speaking of getting on top of things…”

He settled himself in Enjolras’s lap and leaned in to kiss him, arms wrapping around Enjolras’s neck. Enjolras responded eagerly, his hands gripping Grantaire’s waist tightly as he leaned in and nipped at Grantaire’s bottom lip. Grantaire responded by grinding his hips, just a little, inciting a sharp intake of breath from his boyfriend. He could feel Enjolras growing hard and he grinned, lips curving against Enjolras’s as he dipped his hand beneath the waistband of Enjolras’s sweats. His grin widened when he realised that Enjolras wasn’t wearing any underwear.

He wrapped his fingers around Enjolras’s cock and stroked, once, twice, three times, making Enjolras gasp and tighten his grip on Grantaire’s waist.

“Combeferre—” Enjolras bit out, and Grantaire frowned, withdrawing his hand immediately.

“I’m sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else.”

But Enjolras wasn’t looking ashamed or embarrassed at the fact that he’d said someone else’s name while Grantaire was jerking him off. In fact, he was laughing. “Combeferre’s in his room,” he said, finishing the interrupted thought. “We shouldn’t do this here. He could come in.”

“Maybe you’d prefer if he did,” Grantaire said, but he was smiling now too.

Enjolras was right. Combeferre had walked in on them once before, and the days following the encounter had been… interesting, to say the least. Combeferre had studiously avoided looking either of them in the eye afterwards, and whenever they’d so much as spoken to one another, he had blushed like a schoolgirl. Grantaire could understand why Enjolras would want to avoid traumatising his best friend again.

So he slipped off of Enjolras’s lap and entwined their hands, tugging Enjolras over to the bedroom door that had become as familiar to him as his own. Enjolras kissed him clumsily while they staggered towards the bed, their noses bumping against each other and teeth scraping against lips. Grantaire fell back against the mattress hard and let out a sharp breath, but Enjolras was on him within seconds, so he didn’t have time to worry about being winded. The next thing he knew Enjolras’s legs were bracketing his hips and their groins were pressed together, urgent heat pooling between them.

“Have I ever told you how good you look in these jeans?” Enjolras said, voice muffled as he pressed kiss after kiss to Grantaire’s jawline.

“Mmm,” Grantaire said, closing his eyes, lips curving into a grin. “No, I don’t think you have.”

“Well, I do. Except I think you’d look even better if they were on the floor.”

Grantaire half-laughed, half-groaned, and dragged Enjolras up for a hot kiss. “Cheesy,” he accused, but he knew that he was grinning like a mad man. Enjolras smiled right back at him, and cheesy lines be damned, Grantaire couldn’t deny him what he wanted. He kicked his jeans off and tossed them to the floor and then flipped Enjolras over so that he was the one lying on the bed with Grantaire’s weight on his.

“Better,” Enjolras said, eyes flashing. His smile turned wicked as he looked up at Grantaire. “Fuck me.”

He didn’t need to ask twice. Almost before he’d finished uttering the request, Grantaire had started to slip off his sweatpants. Enjolras closed his eyes while Grantaire got him ready, silent except for a few breathy gasps as Grantaire eased his fingers inside of him. First one, then another, and then a third, until Enjolras was arching his hips and begging for more.

Grantaire pushed inside of him carefully and started to thrust, drawing a low groan from his boyfriend. Enjolras’s hand was on his cock but Grantaire replaced it with his own, giving long, steady strokes while he rocked his hips back and forth. Enjolras’s groans intensified until they were all that Grantaire could hear, and even while he was inside of his boyfriend, he couldn’t help but remember the paper thin walls and Combeferre in the next room. He laid his free hand on Enjolras’s chest, making his eyelids flutter open as he found Grantaire with a hazy look.

“Ssh,” Grantaire murmured, although even as he said it, he was quickening his strokes.

Enjolras didn’t reply, just gave a hitching breath as Grantaire’s thrusts picked up pace. They came together, Enjolras crying out while Grantaire collapsed on top of him and pressed a kiss to his collarbone with a soft laugh.

“That,” Enjolras said, his grin showing through his tone, “was exactly what I needed for tomorrow. God, you’re good at that.” His lips found Grantaire’s again, but their kiss was interrupted by a sharp beeping from the bedside table. Grantaire chased the kiss as Enjolras reached over to grab his phone, but Enjolras’s attention was taken up by something else; while Grantaire tried in vain to kiss him, he laughed and swatted him away.

“What?” Grantaire said irritably, hardly caring about whatever was on the phone. Probably Courfeyrac or Bahorel sending some filthy text about what they imagined Enjolras and Grantaire were doing right now. It was a favourite habit of theirs, and somehow they always seemed to pick the most inopportune time to do it; like right now, for example, when Grantaire _should_ be basking in the afterglow with his boyfriend.

Why was Enjolras paying them any heed, for God’s sake?

Enjolras passed the phone over for Grantaire to inspect and he sighed, peering down at the screen reluctantly. But what he saw there was not what he’d expected.

_**Combeferre, 1:23a.m.** _

_Keep it down, you two. Classes start in 8 hours._

_**Combeferre, 1:28a.m.** _

_I know what you’re doing and I’m happy for you but for the love of God please keep it down._

_**Combeferre, 1:32a.m.** _

_OH MY GOD. STOP. PLEASE. STOP. I’M BEGGING YOU._

_**Combeferre, 1:39a.m.** _

_I’m going to stay at Courf’s place._

Grantaire snorted and threw the phone onto the pillow before kissing Enjolras deeply. “You know what this means,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

Enjolras’s expression was unreadable. “What?”

“We don’t have to be quiet anymore.”

Enjolras’s eyes gleamed. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

 

 

 

Enjolras was gone when Grantaire woke the next morning, although that was hardly a surprise. Enjolras had a busy day ahead of him—classes this morning and then a meeting with his advisor about work placement, and then even more classes in the afternoon. Grantaire, on the other hand, didn’t have a lecture until eleven, so he spent the morning lying in Enjolras’s bed and thumbing through a battered copy of Walt Whitman’s _Leaves of Grass._

The margins were dotted here and there with Enjolras’s notes and commentary and Grantaire found himself smiling as he skimmed the lines. He would happily have stayed there all day and been waiting, naked, when Enjolras arrived home, but eventually he had to get to his feet and get dressed. He found his phone abandoned on the bookshelf and two texts from Feuilly reminding him that they had agreed to meet at the Musain to walk to class together. He sent a brief reply to let Feuilly know that he was on his way and then left the cosy silence of Enjolras’s apartment, taking care to lock the door behind him.

The mid-morning air was balmy and pleasant, devoid of the sticky heat that had permeated the city for the last few weeks, but still warm enough that there was no need for a jacket. Grantaire hummed to himself as he strolled through the streets, surprised to find that even the thought of going back to college couldn’t spoil his good mood.

It was amazing, he reflected, what regular sex could do for a person.

Feuilly was waiting outside the Musain with two Styrofoam cups when he got there, looking like he’d just spent the week in bed with flu. He handed Grantaire one of the cups and, in lieu of a greeting, gave a grunt.

“Good morning to you, too,” Grantaire said, amused.

“What’s so good about it?” Feuilly grumbled. The hangover was discernible even in his tone and Grantaire had to hide his face in his coffee cup so Feuilly wouldn’t see his smile.

The first day of classes passed by without incident. Most lectures were simply introductions to the topic, so Grantaire didn’t feel the need to pay too much attention. He half-listened while his professors explained the structure of the year and then zoned out, already daydreaming about the weekend.

His phone buzzed while he sat in his last class of the day, a seminar on the art of the ancient Greeks.

_**Courfeyrac, 3:45p.m.** _

_Dinner tonight at 8 at the girls’ place? Everyone’s coming._

He held the phone up for Feuilly to see and received a nod in return. He fired off a confirmation and then slumped back in his seat to listen to the rest of the lecture.

He and Feuilly parted ways after class, Feuilly heading for home to get a much needed nap before dinner and Grantaire heading instead for the Musain, where he was scheduled for a two hour shift. Eponine was already there when he arrived, dealing expertly with a long line of customers.

“Coming to dinner?” she said as he slipped behind the counter and tied an apron around his waist.

“Wouldn’t miss it. Unless you’re cooking, of course.”

She couldn’t hit him with customers around but she shot him a glare, a silent promise that she would get him back for that later. Their banter was cut short as the queue of customers grew longer, and it was a few minutes before things grew quiet enough for them to speak once more.

“Musichetta’s cooking,” Eponine said, leaning back against the counter and rubbing her finger against a Sharpie mark on her wrist. A hazard of the job; on days after working at the Musain, Grantaire was constantly finding black marks on his hands and forearms. “She’s making fajitas.”

Musichetta’s fajitas were a thing of legend and Grantaire’s interest was instantly peaked. Eponine, on the other hand, didn’t seem nearly as excited. If anything, she looked worried. He studied her face, noting the bags under her eyes and the tension lines on her forehead. She had her brow furrowed in that way that she always did when she was concerned about something, although she didn’t seem to realise it, and there was something different about her appearance. It took him a moment to realise that it was her make-up—her ever-present red lipstick was absent, and so too was the black kohl that usually ringed her eyes. It was rare for Eponine to forego what she called her ‘war-paint’, unheard of for her to go to work without it.

“Is everything okay?” Grantaire asked, watching carefully for her reaction to his words. “You look… different.”

He and Eponine had known each other a long time. He knew all of her tells, how to deduce when she was lying, what to look for when she was trying to hide something. If something was wrong, he would be able to tell. And he was nearly certain that something had to be wrong.

“I’m fine,” she said firmly, although he knew at once that that wasn’t the truth. “I’m just tired. I had an early start today, and then I had to meet with my advisor to confirm the dates of my work placement, and then I had to come straight here to work. I haven’t really had a second to relax.” She noticed his gaze, intent on her, and sighed. “Really, R, I just need a nap.”

“You’re sure it’s nothing to do with Montparnasse?” Grantaire said, unable to help himself from frowning as the name passed his lips. Montparnasse, Eponine’s on-and-off, good-for-nothing boyfriend, who Grantaire still couldn’t stomach despite the fact that they’d been back together without incident since before he and Enjolras had gotten together.

He knew he was being abrupt, but there was no point in dancing around the question. The last time that he’d seen Eponine look this way was right before she’d broken up with Montparnasse the first time, when he’d started cheating on her with other girls and fighting with her more. Montparnasse had been on his best behaviour for the last few months, but Grantaire wouldn’t be surprised if he’d started sleeping around again.

“I’m fine,” Eponine repeated, giving him a look that told him two things at once: first, that Eponine hadn’t appreciated his question, and second, that he’d been entirely right in asking it. But there was no point in pushing the matter right now. He was worried, but Eponine would tell him the truth in time, and he would be there to pick up the pieces when she did. And besides, if he kept pressing her for details now, he ran the risk of making her close herself off entirely. It was a defence mechanism, one that she’d perfected over the years, and that he had yet to find a way to crack. It was better to let her decide when it was right to reveal the truth.

So for the next couple of hours, he kept the conversation light and playful as they served customers and cleaned the espresso machine. Slowly, Eponine started to look less exhausted and more like herself, and by the time they hung up their aprons, she was grinning. They walked arm-in-arm to the apartment that Eponine had just moved into with Musichetta and Cosette, arguing good-naturedly about which of their coworkers was the most attractive on the way.

Grantaire hadn’t seen the new apartment yet; he’d been working when they were moving in, so he’d been spared the task of helping lift boxes and furniture. It was bigger than he’d expected and he suspected that that was thanks to Cosette’s father. Overprotective as he was, he’d only agreed to let Cosette move in with her friends if he got final say on where their apartment was located. Grantaire suspected that he’d kicked in for at least some of the bill, because even with three people living here, he couldn’t imagine college students affording a place like this.

Musichetta was in the kitchen when they arrived and several of the others were in the living room, wearing the shellshocked expressions that often resulted from the first day back at school. Not everyone had arrived yet—Enjolras was missing, as were Courfeyrac, Bahorel and Feuilly, but everyone else was present and accounted for. Grantaire claimed a spot on the couch between Jehan and Marius and swung his arms around their shoulders.

“Good evening, children,” he said. “And how was everyone’s first day?”

“Exhausting,” Joly offered. He and Bossuet were sitting in the same armchair, limbs tangled up together, Joly’s head resting on Bossuet’s shoulder. “And terrifying.”

“I’ll second that,” Combeferre agreed from his position on the floor. “Today was the first time that I seriously questioned my decision to study medicine.”

“Well, my day was lovely,” Jehan said, beaming. “I met all of my professors today and they’re all so passionate about what they do. I think I’m really going to enjoy third year!”

“Too happy,” Bossuet groaned, swatting his hand in Jehan’s direction. “Begone, optimist. You should be wallowing in self-pity and despair like the rest of us.”

Bahorel and Feuilly arrived while Jehan was arguing with Bossuet about the futility of self-pity. They looked just as tired as everyone else, although Feuilly at least looked somewhat improved since Grantaire had seen him last. Courfeyrac was hot on their heels and finally Enjolras arrived just as Musichetta was starting to bring plates into the room. There was barely a moment for Grantaire to kiss Enjolras hello before they were being ushered towards the dining table, a new purchase, courtesy of Cosette’s credit card. It was big enough to seat all of them, amazingly enough, and as they gathered around it, Grantaire felt a surge of warmth.

This was the first time they’d all been together in a while. Over the summer, work schedules had clashed. Someone had always been busy. He’d almost forgotten how great it could feel to have everybody in the same room. But now, here they were, gathered around the table like a real family, with plates of food and bottles of wine, while chatter and laughter filled the room. Summer holidays may have just ended, but this felt like an occasion within itself. Grantaire raised his glass in a toast, although he found himself unable to think of a witty remark.

“To third year,” he said instead. Short, simple, and sweet. The echo went up around the table and they all clinked glasses before diving into the feast that Musichetta had prepared. While his friends fought over bowls of sliced peppers and dishes of guacamole, Grantaire looked around and thought absently about how lucky he was to have them.

Right at that moment, he wouldn’t have traded his life for anyone’s.

 


	2. Out of Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The realities of an adult relationship dawn on Grantaire and he turns to an old vice for comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is totally unedited and possibly terrible because I've been craaaazy busy with work but I wanted to post it anyway. Updates might be sketchy from here on out because I'm writing this one as I post, but hopefully the next chapter will be up next week!

It was amazing how quickly things returned to normal. By the end of the second week of college, it almost felt as if summer had been a dream. As far as Grantaire was concerned, they may never have left college at all.

Of course, there were some things that were different—for one, he had a job now, so he had to deal with balancing his shifts at the Musain with his coursework. And there was Enjolras, too. Their relationship had certainly evolved over the summer.

Evolved to the point where it was now perfectly acceptable for Grantaire to let himself into Enjolras’s apartment after he got in from work and start cooking dinner in the tiny kitchen. Most of the time, Enjolras and Combeferre weren’t there when he arrived. Now that classes had started up again, Combeferre had taken to spending most of his time at the library, and even though Enjolras was only supposed to be working at Senator Lamarque’s office on Wednesdays and Fridays, he’d started dropping by after classes to see how things were going. As a result, Grantaire barely saw him, and when he did, Enjolras was so exhausted that they did little more than sit on the couch, eat, and talk.

He would never admit it, but Grantaire liked being there to greet Enjolras with dinner when he got in, loved the simple domesticity of it and the way that Enjolras’s face lit up when he saw him, no matter how tired he was. He would have done it for that reason alone, even if it weren’t the only way to guarantee that he saw Enjolras during the week.

Today though, when he arrived at Enjolras’s place, he found Enjolras already there. More surprising than that was the fact that he was in the kitchen, frowning over a pan full of what smelled like burnt onions, but looked more like charcoal. Grantaire coughed as the door swung shut behind him, drawing Enjolras’s attention.

“You’re always making me dinner,” Enjolras said. “I thought I’d return the favour, but I think I might have done something wrong.”

“You think?” Grantaire said, coming over to inspect the damage. “Oh, God, Apollo. You’re supposed to lower the heat when the onions turn clear, not turn it up. Here, get out of the way.”

He started trying to scrape the burnt mess into the bin while Enjolras ordered pizza, insistent that Grantaire was not allowed to touch the stove tonight. The pan, it turned out, was unsalvageable.

“I’m a disaster,” Enjolras said mournfully, staring at the smoking mess in the bin. “I can’t even sauté onions without setting something on fire.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, coming up behind him, winding his arms around Enjolras’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “Maybe you should stay away from the oven in the future. I don’t mind cooking. I like cooking for you, actually.”

Enjolras twisted in his arms and caught Grantaire’s lips in a soft kiss. Grantaire closed his eyes and leaned into it, tightening his grip on Enjolras’s waist.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you,” Enjolras said.

“I can think of something nice you could do for me,” Grantaire said, kissing him again, harder this time. Enjolras grinned and kissed him back, and then the next thing Grantaire knew, they were toppling back onto the couch, still kissing furiously.

They didn’t hear the doorbell when the pizza arrived, and the delivery guy didn’t hang around waiting for them to finish.

After, they lay on the couch together, Grantaire’s head pillowed on Enjolras’s chest and their hands laced together. Grantaire was starving, but he didn’t care; moments like these were few and far between these days, and he suspected they would become even fewer soon. He longed suddenly for the easiness of summer, when Enjolras had been all his and there had been no Senator Lamarque to take up his time, no coursework to divert him from important things like cuddling with Grantaire on the couch.

“We should eat,” Enjolras said, although he sounded just as reluctant to move as Grantaire felt.

“Mmm,” Grantaire agreed. “But you _did_ say you wanted to do something nice for me. This is it.”

“Taking you out to dinner would be nice, too,” Enjolras murmured, leaning down and nipping at Grantaire’s earlobe. “We could get dressed up, go to a nice restaurant, get a bottle of wine…” He was kissing Grantaire’s neck now, hand flat on Grantaire’s chest. “Come back here… do more _nice_ things…”

Grantaire closed his eyes, smiling and arching at Enjolras’s touch. “I _do_ love it when you dress up.”

It took them another half hour to actually move from the couch, but eventually they found themselves at a little Italian restaurant down the street. Enjolras ordered a bottle of the house wine, as promised, and a plate of spaghetti for each of them. It turned out that that was what he’d been trying to make when Grantaire had arrived at the apartment. Grantaire looked down at the mass of noodles and sauce in front of him, thought back to the pan of smoking onions, and couldn’t help but let out a burst of laughter.

For a little while, it was almost like old times. Enjolras’s attention was focused on him, he was energetic and happy and smiling, and Grantaire would be going home with him later to spend the night, something he hadn’t done in the last two weeks. It was bliss.

But after they had each drained their first glass of wine, Enjolras’s phone started to beep. He ignored it at first out of respect for Grantaire, but by the time the waiter came to clear their plates, it was buzzing incessantly. Enjolras bit his lip and reached for it.

“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “Sorry, we’re working on the campaign for the next election and Lamarque wants me to pick some things up before I head over tomorrow. Do you mind if I just reply quickly to this text?”

“Go ahead,” Grantaire said, although he couldn’t deny that he was a little put out by it. Enjolras was spending all of his time working for the senator, and now Grantaire couldn’t even have him to himself during dinner?

What was meant to be a quick reply turned into a ten minute long texting conversation, followed by a phone call between Enjolras and another one of Lamarque’s interns. Grantaire ordered dessert while Enjolras and the other intern argued about which of them should pick up the posters for the campaign, and by the time Enjolras hung up, Grantaire’s chocolate lava cake was almost gone.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said again. This time, Grantaire said nothing, just gave a slight shrug of his shoulders and suggested that they get the bill.

It was stupid for him to be upset, he knew that. Enjolras had always been the type of person who put work first. He threw himself into every task he undertook, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he was doing the same now. Especially since working with Lamarque was essentially his dream job. It was to be expected that his relationship with Grantaire would fall by the wayside a little. It was an inevitability that Grantaire had prepared himself for.

Or at least he thought he had, but he supposed he hadn’t been very successful, because he found himself resenting Lamarque for monopolising Enjolras’s time.

The phone continued to beep while they walked home, so Enjolras didn’t notice the shift in Grantaire’s mood, but with each message that came in, the dark cloud over his head got a little bit darker. The constant interruptions seemed to have the opposite effect on Enjolras; he was practically glowing by the time they reached the apartment. Yet another text arrived while he was about to unlock the door and he pressed the keys into Grantaire’s hands as he peered down at the screen.

As he unlocked the door in the dim light of the hallway, Grantaire saw Enjolras’s expression change. The content look he’d worn on the walk home vanished, replaced by something empty, emotionless.

“Something wrong?” Grantaire asked, halting as he pushed open the door. Enjolras looked up like he’d forgotten that Grantaire was there.

“No,” he said, though he sounded different. “No, nothing’s wrong.”

Grantaire inclined his head towards the phone. “Is it the campaign?”

“No,” Enjolras said again. He hesitated. “That wasn’t about work, it was…” He stopped and shook his head. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

Grantaire looked at him, long and hard, and decided that it wasn’t worth pushing it tonight. Their evening had already been marred by the incessant interruptions from Lamarque and his lackeys. He would ask about it again in the morning.

Instead, he snaked an arm around Enjolras’s waist and tugged him in for a kiss, but Enjolras’s reaction was half-hearted.

“Kiss me,” Grantaire murmured against Enjolras’s lips, but Enjolras just gave a sigh and pulled away.

“Listen, R, I’m really tired,” he said. “Would you mind if we just went to bed, maybe? I’m sorry.”

Grantaire stiffened and stepped away, his hand falling to his side. “Yeah,” he said, hating how hollow his voice sounded. He felt embarrassed all of a sudden and looked down his feet, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it’s fine. You know what, I’m tired too, I think I’ll just head home.”

He was babbling, and he knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t help it. He turned and started walking quickly, ignoring Enjolras as he called his name. It felt like an eternity before he finally reached the end of the hallway.

 

 

 

“It’s the end of the honeymoon period,” Courfeyrac said, as if that was a phrase that Grantaire should know.

“The honeymoon period?” he repeated, questioningly.

It was the evening after his date with Enjolras had ended so horribly, and he and Courfeyrac were sprawled out on the couch in Grantaire’s apartment for their weekly video game tournament. Grantaire’s phone had buzzed a few times since Courfeyrac’s arrival, each notification a message from Enjolras, all of which had been ignored. Courfeyrac had demanded an explanation, and this was his conclusion—that the honeymoon period, whatever that was, had come to an end.

“Every relationship has one,” Courfeyrac explained. “At the beginning, everything is new and exciting, right? It’s all about getting to know each other in a new way. You’re finding out all this stuff about each other and you’re obviously fucking like bunnies, and you think that everything is great and it’s going to be that way forever, but it’s not. One day, something changes, and you wake up in an adult relationship and you have to decide if it’s worth fighting for.” He fixed Grantaire with a hard look. “Do you think what you and Enjolras have is worth fighting for?”

“Of course,” Grantaire said immediately.

“Then you have to work on it,” Courfeyrac said, shrugging. “Now, help me kill this zombie.”

Courfeyrac’s words stuck with Grantaire over the next few days and he realised that beyond getting together with Enjolras, he had never thought about what it would be like to be in an actual relationship with him. He’d been so focused on the thought of being with him that he’d never thought about afterwards.

Courfeyrac was right. It was going to take work. But he was sure that it was worth it.

He hoped that Enjolras thought so too, although it was impossible to be sure. And there was that mysterious text message to consider. Enjolras kept avoiding his attempts to bring it up, but Grantaire had noticed that he looked vaguely wary now whenever his phone went off. Grantaire was sure that there had been more texts, but any attempts to ask Enjolras were in vain. Whatever was going on, he wasn’t talking.

And beyond Enjolras’s strange behaviour, there was Eponine to consider. Grantaire had been keeping a close eye on her since the first day of classes and he had yet to see any improvement in her appearance or in her attitude. Enjolras and Eponine were the most important people in Grantaire’s life, and they were both hiding something from him. It made him feel sick, out of control. So he did what he always did when he couldn’t control things.

He drank.

He felt guilty doing it, because he knew that he was throwing away weeks worth of progress with each swallow of vodka. And he knew that Enjolras would be upset with him if he knew, because it wasn’t the idea of Grantaire drinking that bothered him, but the idea of Grantaire drinking alone, as a reaction to feeling down or depressed. It was Grantaire using alcohol as a crutch that worried him. 

But then, he hardly saw Enjolras anymore now. It was funny; immediately after Courfeyrac had made Grantaire realise that he needed to work on his relationship with Enjolras if he wanted it to succeed, he had suddenly become immensely more unavailable. It was as if the universe was conspiring against him.

Rationally, he knew that wasn’t true. It was hard to spend time with Enjolras because he was working hard, on schoolwork and on Lamarque’s campaign. When he _was_ with Grantaire, he was as sweet and attentive as ever. There was no reason to doubt his faith in their relationship, or his feelings for Grantaire. Rationally, anyway.

But rationality had never been Grantaire’s strong suit, especially where Enjolras was concerned.

So it became a habit,over the next few weeks that whenever Enjolras cancelled on him because of work, he went to the off license, picked up a bottle of whatever was on offer, and went to the studio at the university to paint.

Tonight was one of those nights. Enjolras’s team had done a poll on voting intentions in the city and they were waiting on the results to come in. There’d been some kind of delay, so it was going to be a late night. Grantaire shouldn’t wait up for him, they could reschedule their date.

So Grantaire didn’t wait.

His drink of choice for the evening was an off brand whiskey that he swigged straight from the bottle while he slashed the paintbrush across the canvas. The painting was one that he’d been working on for the last few weeks, a landscape of the beach at twilight. Horribly cliche, but it was something to do, and he didn’t care enough about it to worry when a few drops of whiskey splashed onto the canvas.

He was smudging some blue across the skyline when a trilling noise alerted him to the fact that he had a phone call. He answered with the hand clutching the paintbrush, getting a streak of paint in his curls in the process.

“Hello?” he said, picking up the bottle and taking a swig. He examined its contents. This was his second bottle of the evening, half gone already, and he’d only been here for an hour.

“Grantaire,” came Enjolras’s voice, bright and cheerful. “Listen, we got the polling results and they were better than expected, so Lamarque sent us home early. Are you at your place?”

“I’m at the studio,” Grantaire said, aware even as he was saying the words that telling Enjolras where he was right now wasn’t in his best interests. He wasn’t drunk, but he was getting there. He should tell Enjolras that he was too tired to see him, or that he was working on an assignment.

But he wanted to see him.

“Are you busy?” Enjolras was asking. “Can I come by? Or do you want to come by my place in a while?”

“I’ll come to you,” Grantaire said decisively. He could leave the whiskey here, and the walk to Enjolras’s apartment would sober him up a little. With any luck, Enjolras wouldn’t smell the whiskey on his breath, and he wouldn’t ask what he’d been doing.

At least, that was the theory. But the cool night air seemed to do the opposite of what Grantaire had wanted. Instead of sobering him up, it made him feel the effects of the whiskey more intensely, and by the time he reached Enjolras’s door, he was beginning to feel more than a little queasy. Still, there was no turning back now. He rapped sharply on the door and it opened a moment later to reveal a grinning Enjolras, who tugged Grantaire inside and kissed him soundly.

The kiss was brief; Enjolras ended it almost as quickly as it had began, pushing Grantaire away with a frown.

“I thought you were at the studio,” he said.

“I was.”

“Drinking?”

“… No.”

“You’re lying,” Enjolras said, eyes flashing. “Why are you lying?”

Grantaire sighed. “Okay,” he admitted, “I was drinking. I picked up some whiskey on my way to the studio. I just wanted a drink, alright? Why do I have to explain myself every time I want a fucking drink?”

Enjolras stared at him. “Were you with someone, at least?”

Grantaire thought about lying, but he didn’t. “No,” he said finally. “I was on my own.”

He couldn’t stand the way Enjolras was looking at him right now, like he was something that someone had stepped in and tracked all over the carpet. He hated himself for putting that look on Enjolras’s face, but he hated Enjolras too, for making him feel that way. He shouldn’t have to feel guilty for doing something he wanted to do.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, “ _why_  were you getting drunk alone? Did something happen?” He stepped forward and took one of Grantaire’s hands, swiping his thumb over Grantaire’s palm. “Tell me.”

“I don’t see why I have to explain myself to you,” Grantaire snapped. “I’m twenty one, for Christ’s sake, I can have a drink if I want one. I don’t need to ask for your _permission_ , Apollo.”

“What is this?” Enjolras demanded suddenly, dropping Grantaire’s hand like it was burning hot. “Why are you being like this?” He looked sad, and somehow that was worse than him looking angry.

“Maybe I’m sick of having to justify myself to someone who’s lost interest in me,” Grantaire said. “I’m meant to be your boyfriend, not your project. You don’t have to _fix_ me, Enjolras, you’re not supposed to. You’re supposed to accept me as I am and all that bullshit.”

“What on earth makes you think I’ve lost interest in you?” Enjolras said, seeming bewildered and annoyed all at the same time.

“I never see you anymore. You’re always working. You’re hiding things from me. What else am I supposed to think?”

God, Grantaire hated himself right now. He sounded utterly pathetic. He waited for Enjolras to do the inevitable and kick him out, to bring an end to this relationship that had never stood a chance in the first place. It was what he would do in Enjolras’s position. Grantaire didn’t deserve Enjolras. He never had.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, shaking his head, and here it came. Grantaire braced himself. “I’m sorry.”

He blinked. That was the last thing he’d been expecting.

“I think you misspoke,” he told Enjolras. “I think what you meant to say was ‘Grantaire, you’re a waste of space, and I’m breaking up with you.’”

“Stop that,” Enjolras said sharply. He came forward then and cupped Grantaire’s face in his hands, fixing him with a stern gaze. “I’m _sorry_. I’ve been working too much, it’s not fair to you. I should have realised that it was upsetting you. I’m going to change that, I promise.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire scoffed, unable to help himself. “Sorry, Apollo, but I don’t see that happening. Your work is too important to you.”

“Not as important as you,” Enjolras said firmly.

He leaned in, kissed Grantaire softly and then rested his forehead on Grantaire’s, breathing out a soft sigh. When he looked at Grantaire again, it was with a clear and steady gaze. His hands were still cupped around Grantaire’s face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

Grantaire reached up and circled his fingers around Enjolras’s wrists, holding his hands in place. Enjolras was promising to put him before work, but there was still something they hadn’t resolved.

“Enjolras,” he said, swallowing hard. “The texts. Who are they from?”

Enjolras sighed, resignation falling over his face. “It’s not important, R.”

“It’s important to me,” Grantaire pressed. A new fear crept over him suddenly. “Is it… are you seeing someone else?”

Enjolras released him, stepping back as if he’d just gotten an electric shock. “I would never cheat on you,” he said. “You don’t actually think I would do that, do you?”

“Who are the texts from?” Grantaire said again.

Enjolras stared at him for a long time and then sighed, dragging his hands back through his hair and turning his back on Grantaire. “Fine. Fine, fine. It’s my parents. The texts are from my parents.”

 


	3. The Oncoming Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras tells the truth about his parents and Grantaire prepares to meet the people who created his lovely Apollo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this is going up a little bit later than I'd planned but I couldn't help but keep on tweaking it until today. Oh well, better late than never, right? ^^

“Your parents,” Grantaire said dumbly, staring at Enjolras.

Enjolras’s parents were a mystery. He never spoke about them, in good terms or bad. They were a complete non-entity in his life and he liked it that way. In all the time they’d known each other, Grantaire had never heard Enjolras mention them, not even when he was talking about his childhood. To hear him mention them now was completely surreal.

Enjolras nodded miserably. “Look, will you stay the night?” he said. “I’ll explain everything, I promise I will, but just stay the night with me.”

There was a strange sort of desperation in his voice, one that Grantaire couldn’t even think of saying no to.

“Yeah, alright,” he said, leaning back against the door.

Relief passed over Enjolras’s face and he gestured, somewhat awkwardly, towards the couch. Grantaire felt strangely formal as he perched on the edge of it, which was ridiculous, considering all of the things he and Enjolras had gotten up to on this couch in the past. It didn’t help that Enjolras took a seat on the armchair, as far away from Grantaire as it was possible to be and still have a conversation.

“Do you want tea or coffee or anything?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire had never seen him look so awkward before and reached out to take his hand, hoping to ease his nerves a little bit.

“Relax,” he said. “Just tell me whatever it is you need to tell me.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “I’ve never told you about my parents. Or any of the others. Combeferre and Courfeyrac know, but that wasn’t my choice. If I had it my way, nobody would know.”

“What, are you parents axe murderers or something?” Grantaire joked, trying vainly to lighten the mood. Enjolras’s gaze remained serious.

“Worse,” he said darkly. “They have far too much money and not even an ounce of selflessness between them. They come from old money, both of them, and all they know how to do is look out for themselves. We’ve never gotten along, not even when I was little. I’ve always wanted to help the world but they just wanted to profit from it.”

“So they’re rich assholes,” Grantaire said. “I mean, it sucks, but is that really so bad?”

“Grantaire, they disagree with everything I stand for,” Enjolras sighed. “They own shares in companies that contribute to deforestation, pollution, starvation… I can’t even begin to list all of the ways they make the world a terrible place to live in. And they’re not just terrible people, they’re terrible parents. I barely saw them when I was growing up. I was raised by a rotating team of nannies and au pairs. But when it was time for me to choose where I wanted to go to college and what I wanted to do with my life, suddenly my parents were all about being part of those decisions. They wanted me to study marketing at my father’s alma mater and take over the family business, if you could call it that.”

“Hold on,” Grantaire interrupted. “Is it the mob? Because nobody says ‘family business’ unless they’re referring to underground criminal organisations, Apollo.”

“Be serious, please,” Enjolras reprimanded him, though he was smiling. “I told them that I wanted nothing to do with it, and after a lot of arguments, they agreed to let me study what I wanted. I think it helped that I wanted to do politics. They could still brag about that to their friends, so they didn’t care too much.” He paused. “Now, though…”

“Something’s changed?”

“One of the terms of our agreement was that if I came here, I would keep them updated on my life,” Enjolras said. “Mostly, I’ve told them the bare minimum. Whatever they needed to know to keep them off my back. When I told them about work experience, they insisted I tell them who I was working for, and they were… well, angry is an understatement.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “They don’t support Lamarque, see. They’re pretty staunch supporters of his opponent, actually.”

“So they’re pissed at you.”

“You could say that. They’re coming to visit, Grantaire.”

“What, to talk you out of interning with Lamarque?”

“They say that it’s an early birthday visit, but yeah, they’re coming to try and talk me out of it. They’re threatening to stop paying for college.”

Grantaire thought for a moment. “Alright,” he said. “So they visit, and you let them think that you’re going to give up the internship. Then they go home and you don’t have to think about it anymore. Problem solved.”

Enjolras sighed. “They don’t know that I’m gay, Grantaire,” he said miserably.

Grantaire felt a twinge in his stomach. So there it was, the real reason that Enjolras had hidden the texts from him. Not just because he was ashamed of where he came from, but because he was ashamed of Grantaire, too. Grantaire was a dirty little secret, one that had the potential to ruin everything for Enjolras. He should have seen it coming, really. Enjolras had always been too good for him.

“Okay,” he said mechanically. Enjolras’s shoulders stiffened at the one of his voice and he reached out, clasping Grantaire’s hands in his own.

“I know what you’re thinking and I want you to _stop_ ,” he said firmly. “I’m not hiding you. I’m not ashamed of our relationship. It’s them that I’m ashamed of. They’re so prejudiced and backward, I was afraid of what they would say if I told them. I didn’t want them to ruin this.” He squeezed Grantaire’s hands. “But if they come here, then I’ll tell them. I won’t hurt you to protect their fragile egos.”

“If they’re threatening to stop paying for college just because you’re working for Lamarque, what makes you think that they won’t do the same when they find out about me?” Grantaire pointed out. Enjolras shrugged.

“I’ll deal with that if it comes to it. I thought I was protecting you by hiding those texts, but seeing what it did to you… I’m not risking that again. If they come here, they’re going to see my life the way it really is.”

He smiled at Grantaire and moved so that he was sitting on the couch beside him. He leaned in to brush their mouths together, dropping Grantaire’s hands to wind his arms around his neck instead.

“You don’t have to do that,” Grantaire said when he pulled away. “Fuck everything up for me. We can lie while they’re here. I won’t be mad. I can handle it.”

“I’m not risking it, R,” Enjolras said again.

If Grantaire was being honest, the words sent a thrill down his spine. He leaned into Enjolras again and kissed him.

“Well then, we’ll face them together,” he whispered. 

 

 

 

Enjolras’s parents were scheduled to arrive the following week, so there was time at least for Grantaire to prepare himself. He knew from personal experience just how intimidating Enjolras could be, so he could only imagine how much more terrifying the people who had created him would be. Especially once they discovered that their son was not only working for their political nemesis, but was in a committed relationship with another man.

Despite his brave words when he’d confessed the truth to Grantaire, the tension was visible in Enjolras as the day of their arrival grew closer. With that in mind, Grantaire texted their friends, requesting an emergency get-together over the weekend. He didn’t mention the visit, knowing that Enjolras would want it kept private, but he made sure to impress upon them just how urgent it was that Enjolras got some quality relaxation time. He figured they would assume he was stressed out from work.

It wasn’t lying, not really. So he didn’t have to feel bad about it.

It was Courfeyrac who came through and invited everyone over for a movie night. So on Saturday night, Grantaire arrived outside of Enjolras’s building in Gracie, his little green Beetle, and honked the horn loudly. Combeferre and Enjolras emerged from the building, deep in conversation. Enjolras didn’t even pause to kiss Grantaire on the cheek when he got into the car, too busy debating with Combeferre about what their next cause should be.

They continued the debate for the whole of the drive to Courfeyrac’s apartment and were still bickering over it when Jehan opened the door to let them in.

“I think the contraception issue is more pressing,” Enjolras said, brushing past Jehan with a quick wave.

“I agree that it’s pressing, but I would think that as a gay man you would be more invested in fixing the problems with the university’s GSA,” Combeferre countered.

Grantaire rolled his eyes at Jehan as he passed. “They’ve been at it since I picked them up,” he said. “Please tell me you have food and distractions inside.”

“Lots of food, lots of distractions,” Jehan promised, grinning.

Everyone was already there, with one notable exception: Eponine was nowhere to be found, and when Grantaire asked, Jehan shrugged and said that she wasn’t coming. Grantaire frowned, remembering how exhausted she’d looked the last few weeks and resolved to call her tomorrow morning and find out what was going on, once and for all. 

Tonight, though, was about distracting Enjolras and building him up so that when his parents came, he could stand his ground and be strong.

“So, what’s first on the agenda?” Grantaire asked, slinging an arm around Jehan’s shoulder and steering him over to the awful, mustard yellow couch that dominated most of the floor space in the living room.

The yellow monstrosity was piled high with blankets and people; Marius was wedged into one of the corners with Cosette on his lap, and the other cushions were occupied by Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet, squished together in a tangle of limbs. Bahorel had claimed the paisley patterned armchair that Jehan had picked out, while Feuilly lay stretched across the rug on his stomach. Combeferre had taken a seat in the other armchair, a red corduroy one with a patched up cushion, and Enjolras was sitting on the rug beside Feuilly, knees drawn up to his chest as he continued to debate with Combeferre. Grantaire lowered himself to sit beside his boyfriend, their sides pressing together warmly.

“We thought some video games would be good to start,” said Courfeyrac, entering from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in one hand and a bag of treat size chocolate bars in the other. “Super Mario 3D World, maybe?”

“I’m terrible at that,” Bossuet protested. Musichetta grinned and pinched his cheek.

“You’re terrible at _all_ video games, sweetheart.”

Video games wouldn’t have been Grantaire’s first choice for distracting Enjolras—he wasn’t typically a fan of them, and when he did play, it was single player adventures and not multiplayer party games. But Enjolras was still heavily embroiled in his debate with Combeferre and didn’t seem to mind when Courfeyrac switched on the Wii, and it turned out that an hour or so of trying (and failing) to play a children’s game together was a great way to loosen up the group. They took turns playing and only decided to end the game after Cosette and Marius had gotten in a particularly nasty argument about which of them was better—both of them, it turned out, had a secret competitive streak.

After the game, they switched on a movie. It was Feuilly’s turn to choose, which meant a horror movie marathon. Grantaire didn’t mind, although once again, he found himself questioning if it was the right choice for Enjolras. But he didn’t seem to mind that, either, and simply settled in closer to Grantaire while the opening credits rolled over the screen.

As the family on TV steadfastly ignored all of the evidence telling them that their house was haunted, Enjolras leaned in close to Grantaire.

“I know what you’re doing,” he whispered, his breath hot against Grantaire’s ear.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Grantaire said under his breath, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the screen.

“You’re trying to distract me,” Enjolras said. “You’re trying to make me forget about the fact that my parents are going to be here in a couple of days. It’s a valiant effort, really, I’m impressed, but you should know me well enough to know that it’s not going to work.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions, Apollo. Now hush and watch the movie, I haven’t seen this one before.”

Enjolras fell silent then, and for a while Grantaire was able to watch the movie without interruption. He was somewhat put out by the fact that Enjolras had discovered his plan; he’d thought that he was being so clever about it, but clearly, sneaking around wasn’t his forte. He supposed that meant that the plan was a failure. Instead of distracting Enjolras, he’d merely alerted Enjolras to the fact that he was trying to distract him.

But even if the distraction hadn’t worked, the night seemed to put Enjolras in a good mood. When it was reluctantly decided that it was probably time for everyone to start heading for home, he leaned in to whisper something to Combeferre, and a moment later Combeferre announced that he was going to spend the night at Courfeyrac’s. It was with raised eyebrows and a suggestive smirk that Enjolras tugged Grantaire out to the car.

When they arrived back at Enjolras’s apartment, he was on Grantaire instantly, hands grappling with his coat and lips pressed heatedly to Grantaire’s skin.

“You know, I never said thank you,” Enjolras murmured against Grantaire’s skin.

“For what?”

“For tonight,” Enjolras clarified, stopping what he was doing to look at Grantaire with bright, wild eyes. “Trying to distract me, it was sweet. It never had a chance in hell of working, but it was sweet of you to try. So, thank you.”

He punctuated his gratitude with a kiss, making Grantaire weak at the knees. He was grinning stupidly when Enjolras pulled away.

“Merely doing my duty, Apollo,” he said. “Although if you really want to thank me…”

It was the first time they’d had sex since Enjolras’s parents had started harassing him, so they were both a little more frantic than usual. When they were done, they lay in Enjolras’s bed, flushed and slicked with sweat, draped around each other despite the heat radiating from their skin. Enjolras’s head was pillowed on Grantaire’s chest, his curls tickling the bare skin there. He traced his long fingers across Grantaire’s stomach and gave a sigh.

“I’m worried, R,” he admitted, and it made Grantaire’s heart squeeze.

Enjolras was confident and self-assured. He always knew what he was doing; he was always composed and ready to face whatever came his way. But now he sounded vulnerable, unprepared, young. Grantaire supposed that that was true of everyone when confronted with their parents. No matter how old you got, or how successful or independent you became, you always regressed to your childhood self when you were around your family. It was why Grantaire stubbornly refused to see his own family—he didn’t like the person he became around them.

He wondered who Enjolras would become when his parents arrived.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, although he hardly felt qualified to say so when he hadn’t even met Enjolras’s parents yet. “You’re not going to have to deal with them alone. I’m here, no matter what. I’m here, okay?”

“Will you come to lunch?” Enjolras said. “When they arrive, I mean. I want you to be there.”

As apprehensive as he was about meeting Enjolras’s parents, Grantaire couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the request. Enjolras wanted him there. He wasn’t hiding Grantaire away like a dirty secret—he was doing the opposite.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, leaning down to kiss Enjolras’s head. “Yeah, of course I’ll come. I wouldn’t miss it.”

 

 

 

It was raining the day that Enjolras’s parents were scheduled to arrive. Grantaire had slept at his own apartment the night before because Enjolras had stayed late at Lamarque’s office, but he woke to several texts from his boyfriend, each more frantic than the last. Or at least as frantic as Enjolras ever got—he was still composed even when he was panicking, to Grantaire’s continued amazement.

_**Enjolras, 8:02a.m.** _

_We’re going to the Musain for lunch. See you there at 2.30?_

_**Enjolras, 8:11a.m.** _

_Unless the Musain is too casual. Do you think we should go somewhere formal? That might impress them. Remove some of the blow of their only son being a depraved homosexual._

_**Enjolras, 8:23a.m.** _

_Not that I care about their comfort. How I live my life is really none of their business._

_**Enjolras, 8:45a.m.** _

_It doesn’t really matter where I tell them, does it? They’re going to be just as angry if I do it at a fancy restaurant._

_**Enjolras, 9:05a.m.** _

_We’re going to Bistro Volnay. It’s formal, wear that green shirt that you wore to Courf’s murder mystery dinner party._

_**Enjolras, 9:15a.m.** _

_DON’T BE LATE!!!!_

Grantaire smiled fondly at the screen and then got up to get dressed. He set the green shirt Enjolras had mentioned aside for later; he didn’t want to put it on yet and risk messing it up before he was due to leave for the restaurant. He had one chance to impress Enjolras’s parents—his very uptight, prejudiced, difficult to please parents. He planned on taking every precaution necessary to get them on his good side, especially since they were already predisposed to hating him for his gender.

He found Feuilly in the kitchen making breakfast, humming a tune under his breath as he flipped a pan of bacon.

“Good morning,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Grantaire. “All set to meet the in-laws?”

The truth had come out about Enjolras’s parents’ visit the night before, when they’d all met at the girls’ apartment for dinner. Not the whole truth, of course. Enjolras hadn’t told the rest of the group about the type of people his parents were—just that they had a difficult relationship and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to their visit. Feuilly and Bahorel had been teasing Grantaire about it ever since, assuming that the reason they were coming was to meet Grantaire. In respect of Enjolras’s wish to keep his family life secret, Grantaire hadn’t corrected them, although it was more than a little irritating to have them keep bringing it up when it was such a sensitive subject.

“Not exactly,” he said in response, grabbing his favourite mug (a chipped blue one with curling script that read _I’m no good at advice… could I interest you in a sarcastic comment?_ ) and filling it with coffee. To that, he added several teaspoons of sugar, a dollop of cream and a squirt of caramel syrup from the bottle that they always kept on the counter. Feuilly, a lover of black coffee, made a face as Grantaire took a swig.

“You’ll be fine,” Feuilly told him. He waved the spatula around as he spoke, sending drops of bacon grease flying through the air. Grantaire leaned slightly to the side to avoid one and earned an apologetic grin from Feuilly. “It’s easy to psyche yourself out about meeting the parents, but all they really want to know is that you’re going to treat their kid right, you know? And you look at Enjolras like he hung the stars. They’re going to love you.”

Grantaire sipped his coffee, choosing not to mention the fact that the only way Enjolras’s parents would love him would be if he managed to become a girl in the next few hours.

“What about you?” he said. “Any plans for the day?”

“I’ve got a shift at the nursing home from three to six,” Feuilly said, making a face. “After that, I’m going for drinks with Bahorel and Marius. You should come, if you’re around. Unless you and Enjolras are spending the entire day with his parents?”

Grantaire hadn’t thought about that—he hadn’t thought about anything after lunch, really. It was difficult to see past the moment of meeting Enjolras’s parents for the first time, and he said as much to Feuilly.

“I’m not really sure what we’ll be up to,” he said. “But if we’re around, then we’ll come by. You’ll be at the Corinth?”

Feuilly nodded and started to tell Grantaire about the new bartender, who he had immediately declared the new love of his life. Grantaire was only half-listening, too caught up in thinking about the day ahead to pay much attention to Feuilly’s crush. They ate breakfast together and then Feuilly left, citing a need to get to the library and do some studying before he had to go to work. With him gone and Bahorel also mysteriously absent from the apartment, Grantaire sat on the couch to watch some television, only moving to get changed when he couldn’t put it off any longer.

Bistro Volnay was a fancy place, there was no doubt about that. Most of Grantaire’s clothes were on the casual side—he favoured dark jeans and hoodies, beanie hats and striped t-shirts and scuffed up Converse or boots. He generally didn’t _do_ formal, so his selection of acceptable formalwear was sparse, and he was grateful that Enjolras had told him what shirt to wear. With it, he chose a pair of dark slacks that he hadn’t worn in at least two years, and his least battered pair of Converse. The shoes weren’t ideal, but they would have to do. His formal attire didn’t extend to footwear.

The rain had stopped, so he chose to walk to the restaurant, hoping that the fresh air would clear his mind and help him relax. By the time he reached the end of his street, he had to admit that it wasn’t working, but the walk was pleasant nonetheless. He was halfway to Bistro Volnay when his phone buzzed and he unlocked it, expecting to see a text from Enjolras reminding him not to be late.

But it wasn’t Enjolras; as Grantaire peered down at the screen, his stomach dropped.

_**Eponine, 2:15p.m.** _

_S.O.S._

_**Eponine, 2:17p.m.** _

_At my apartment. Can you come?_

As he started to tap out a reply, another text arrived.

_**Eponine, 2:18p.m.** _

_Code red._

The turn for Bistro Volnay was just a few feet away, but Grantaire walked right past it, heading instead for the apartment that Eponine shared with Cosette and Musichetta. All thoughts of Enjolras and his parents had vanished entirely—he was entirely focused on getting to Eponine now, and finding out what was wrong, what had been wrong for weeks.

He’d known that she would come to him in time, and even if the time was inconvenient, he couldn’t turn her away. She’d said it was a code red, and that meant that he had to go to her. No questions asked, no time for delay. That was the way that it had to be.

That was their agreement, and he had to honour it.

 


	4. Code Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire finally finds out what's been bothering Eponine, but when he does, he wishes that he hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in the space of a couple of days, I'm on a roll :D

Code red was something that Eponine and Grantaire had come up with when they were in high school. It was the ultimate cry for help—if one of them called code red, the other had to drop whatever they were doing and go help, no questions asked. It wasn’t something they used lightly. In fact, Grantaire could only recall two times in their entire friendship when Eponine had called code red. The first was when one of her father’s associates had cornered her in a drunken rage after a business deal gone awry; the second was when her parents had kicked her out of the house.

With that in mind, Grantaire wasn’t feeling very optimistic as he walked to Eponine’s apartment.

The rain started up again just as he reached the building and he had to run to avoid the downpour. He thought he would have run anyway; now that he was here, his heart was thudding and his palms were sweating. Half of him wanted to race to Eponine’s door and break it down, if he had to, to find out what was wrong. The other half wanted to turn and run in the opposite direction, afraid of what he would find.

It turned out that breaking down the door wasn’t necessary. When he raised his fist to knock, the door swung open at the first brush of his knuckles. He walked in slowly, swallowing hard.

“Eponine?”

“In here,” came the reply from the kitchen. Her voice sounded strange, dull and flat and with none of the usual sarcastic bite. Grantaire headed towards it and found her standing by the stove, staring blankly at a pot of bubbling liquid.

She looked like death warmed up. He’d seen her just a few days ago and noted the dark circles under her eyes and the pallor of her skin, but things had gotten even worse since then. Her hair hung around her face, lank and greasy, and her skin was even paler, making the bags beneath her eyes look like dark bruises. Her lips were dry and chapped and she seemed smaller than usual, a tiny figure swimming in a pair of too big tracksuit bottoms and an oversized sweatshirt. When she looked up at Grantaire, her eyes were huge in her face. He sucked in a breath.

She looked so _young_.

“Oh, ‘Ponine,” he said, coming forward and wrapping her in a tight hug. “What’s the matter?”

There was a choking sound and then she was burying her head in his chest, squeezing his waist like she was drowning and he was her life preserver. When she spoke, her voice was clogged with tears.

“I fucked up, R,” she said. “I fucked up really bad.”

She was shaking now, tears overtaking her as the pot she’d been stirring started to smoke, and the smell of burnt tomatoes filled the kitchen. Grantaire rubbed soothing circles on Eponine’s back with one hand and moved the pot to the sink with the other, afraid to let go of her. After a few minutes, the tears stopped, and Eponine pulled away to look up at him. Her eyes were still damp, the lashes clinging together with tears, and her pale cheeks were flushed from the crying. Grantaire was struck again by how young she looked and pulled her back in for another hug. This time, when he let go, he put his hands on his shoulders and crouched down so that they were at eye-level with one another, his green eyes meeting her brown ones.

“Whatever it is,” he told her, “we’re going to fix it, okay?”

“R—”

“Hang on,” he said, shaking his head. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to clean this up—” he waved his hand at the still-smoking pot in the sink, “and then I’m going to make us some tea. _You_ are going to jump in the shower, and then when you’re done, you can tell me what happened. Does that sound good?”

She hesitated and then nodded, giving him another quick hug before retreating to the bathroom. Grantaire heard the shower come on as he scrubbed burnt garlic out of the pan in the sink. It looked like Eponine had been trying to make some kind of soup. When the kitchen was clean, he put the kettle on for two mugs of tea and rummaged through the cupboards for some biscuits. By the time Eponine emerged from the bathroom, hair dripping wet and her tracksuit replaced by a pair of tight jeans, a midnight blue t-shirt, and a fluffy cardigan, he had arranged the tea and biscuits on the coffee table and was waiting for her on the couch.

She seemed almost delicate as she sat down, a word that Grantaire would never normally associate with Eponine. She was all fire and sarcasm, normally. She could hold her own in a fight, whether it was verbal or physical; she was the most independent person he knew, and she had never needed anyone to take care of her. But right now, she seemed like a lost child, someone who didn’t know what they were doing or how to help themselves. It made his heart ache.

Wordlessly, he pushed the plate of biscuits towards her, but she shook her head.

“Thanks,” she said, “but I’m not really hungry. I was just cooking for a distraction until you got here. I don’t have much of an appetite at all, actually.”

“Have one anyway,” Grantaire urged. “Go on, there’s nothing a little sugar can’t fix.”

She smiled at that and accepted a chocolate biscuit from the plate. “God, I used to love these,” she said, turning it over in her hands. “I remember when I was tiny, I used to think that a chocolate biscuit could cure anything.” Her face darkened. “My dad would give me some whenever he had 'meetings' at the house.”

She put the biscuit back on the plate, untouched.

“So,” Grantaire said after a moment, afraid to ask but even more afraid not to. “Code red.”

Eponine closed her eyes briefly. “Code red.”

“What’s going on, Eponine?”

When she opened her eyes, they were filled with tears again. “I really fucked up,” she said. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around herself as her shoulders started to shake. Grantaire made to put his arms around her again but she shook her head and bit down hard on her lip, ducking her head so that he wouldn’t see her crying. It seemed like an eternity before she straightened up again, but when she did, she appeared composed. She fixed Grantaire with a steady stare, and then, after a deep breath, she told him. “I think I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Grantaire thought that she was joking. He waited for the punchline, for her to laugh and call him an idiot and tell him how gullible he was for believing such a stupid lie, because there was no way that she could be serious. It had to be a joke, because the alternative was too terrible to even consider.

But the laugh never came; Eponine’s expression stayed serious, apprehensive, almost. She was waiting for a response, but he wasn’t sure that he could give her one.

“I—are you sure?” he managed eventually. She stood up, sighing as she wrapped her cardigan around her body more tightly.

“I’m late,” she said flatly.

“Doesn’t that happen sometimes?” Grantaire said. “I mean, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re pregnant, right?”

“It happens,” Eponine agreed, and for a moment Grantaire was hopeful, but when she looked back at him, her brows were drawn together. “But usually it’s just a few days. I’m weeks late, R. Since before college started—” She broke off, sighing again. “I’ve been ignoring it because I thought that maybe it would go away, but I don’t think I can do that anymore.”

Grantaire nodded, numbness washing over him. It was slowly dawning on him that this was real. Eponine wasn’t joking. She was seriously worried. And if she was right, then in a few months, she would have a _baby **.**_ A tiny, squirming, miniature human that would depend on her for everything.

A tiny human that was half-her, half-Montparnasse. Grantaire’s stomach turned.

“Alright,” he said, feeling himself click into crisis mode. “What are we going to do?” When Eponine said nothing, he pressed on. “You’re going to need to find out for sure, obviously. Where can we get a pregnancy test?”

“Pharmacy,” Eponine muttered.

“Then let’s go to the pharmacy,” Grantaire said, getting to his feet. “Before we do anything else, we’ve got to know if there’s anything to worry about, right?”

She hesitated but then nodded begrudgingly. “I’m scared,” she said after a moment, looking away from him as she spoke. Eponine never admitted when she was scared. Hearing her say the words suddenly made the whole situation seem a lot more dire, but Grantaire couldn’t let himself be swayed by his uneasiness. Eponine needed him—he would do anything he could to help her.

 

 

 

The pregnancy test came in a pink box, with a smiling blonde woman with too-white teeth and a stomach that resembled a beach ball. Eponine scoffed at it as they paid, turning around to mutter to Grantaire about how stupid the packaging was.

“She’s clearly ready to give birth, what the hell does she need a pregnancy test for?” she said.

The cashier gave them a sidelong glance as they left the shop, clearly thinking that they were a couple who’d gotten into some trouble. In any other situation, it might have been funny, but now it only made Grantaire think of Eponine’s actual boyfriend. Montparnasse was the one who should have been doing this with her. If she was pregnant, then it was his problem as much as hers—although Grantaire wasn’t sure if it would be better or worse for Montparnasse to be involved in this hypothetical baby’s life.

Eponine hadn’t even mentioned Montparnasse yet. Grantaire was afraid to bring him up.

They went back to Eponine’s place to take the test, and mercifully, neither Cosette nor Musichetta had arrived home yet. Grantaire waited outside the bathroom door while Eponine peed on the stick, and when she emerged from the room with it in its little plastic holder, he took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Whatever happens, I’m here for you,” he told her. It went without saying, and they both knew it, but he thought that it was important to remind her. She squeezed his hand back and then tugged him over to the couch.

The pregnancy test was placed on the coffee table while they waited for the result to appear. They sat on the edge of the couch cushions, sides pressed warmly together and hands clasped so tight that their knuckles turned white. After what seemed like an eternity, something appeared in the little window. Grantaire felt a moment of nauseous panic as he tried to remember what two lines meant.

“I forget what it means,” Eponine said, echoing his thoughts. There was no panic in her voice, though; just a hollow seriousness. She got to her feet and disappeared into the bathroom, emerging with the crumpled pink box in her hands. Grantaire stood, watching her face carefully while she read the directions on the back. Her expression was unreadable.

“Eponine?”

“It’s positive,” she said, her voice cracking. “Two lines means that it’s positive.” She crumpled the box in her hands and took a step backwards, swaying a little. Then she sank to the ground, back pressed against the wall. She brought her hands to her face, a strangled sob escaping her. “ _Fuck **.**_ I’m pregnant.”

She started to cry and Grantaire went to her side, moving mechanically. She stiffened when he put his arm around her but he was persistent, and eventually she let him hold her, her head resting on his shoulder as she cried it out.

When the tears finally stopped, Grantaire pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You could take another test,” he said softly.

“It’s not like an exam, Grantaire,” she said. “You can’t re-take it if you don’t get the result you wanted.”

“So what happens now?”

Eponine was silent for a long time, and when she finally spoke, it was with resolution. “I’ll make an appointment with my doctor, I guess,” she said. “Confirm it. Find out how far along I am.” She laughed at that, a bitter laugh that made Grantaire frown. “God, how fucked up is this?”

“Pretty fucked up,” Grantaire agreed. “Are you going to tell Montparnasse?”

Eponine’s hand flew to her stomach. “I don’t know,” she said. “He’s not exactly father material, is he?”

“Yeah, I guess not.”

“Did you know that this is how my parents got married?” she said. Her hand was still resting on her stomach, thumb stroking the fabric of her t-shirt softly, like she was caressing whatever was inside. Grantaire watched her, partly amazed at how well she was handling this, but also afraid that she was going to snap at any moment.

“I didn’t know that,” he said carefully. Eponine nodded against his shoulder.

“Yeah. They were together on and off since they were teenagers, and then my mum got pregnant. She was going to get rid of it— _me_ —but my dad talked her out of it. Said that he’d change, be a good guy, provide for his family.” She paused. “Bullshit, obviously. He didn’t change. And he just made her worse. They should have gotten rid of me.”

Grantaire tightened his grip around Eponine’s shoulders. “Don’t say that,” he said fiercely. “Your parents are a waste of space, but you’re not. And just because you’re in a similar situation does _not_ mean that you’re going to turn out like them.”

Eponine nodded again. “Yeah,” she said, but she sounded very far away. She shifted to hug him, although she kept her face hidden from view. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I know I am. If there’s one thing your parents did right in their miserable lives, it’s you and your brother and sister. Don’t ever think otherwise, ‘Ponine.”

They sat there together on the floor for a long time, Grantaire’s arm wrapped around Eponine and hers thrown across his stomach in a loose embrace. They were still sitting like that when Eponine’s phone rang and she pulled away, grimacing as she looked at the caller ID.

“It’s Montparnasse,” she said.

“Don’t answer it.”

“I _have_ to.”

She got to her feet and answered the phone in a too-sweet voice, the one that she always used when she spoke to Montparnasse. Grantaire hated that voice—it was so unlike Eponine, so false and submissive and exaggerated. It sounded wrong coming out of her mouth.

“Dick,” Grantaire muttered under his breath, making an obscene gesture at the phone. Eponine swatted at him but she was smiling a little bit now, and Grantaire was pleased that he’d managed to lighten the mood, even if only for a moment.

“No, I can’t come over right now,” Eponine was saying into the phone. “No, I’m hanging out with Grantaire.” She paused and then rolled her eyes. “Fuck off, ‘Parnasse, it’s not like that at all. He’s my best friend, and he has a boyfriend.”

“ _Jealous_ dick,” Grantaire amended his earlier statement, earning another grin from Eponine.

When she hung up at last, Eponine rolled her eyes again and shook her head at Grantaire. “It was never meant to be anything serious,” she said, sounding almost wistful. “He’s just really good in bed, you know? And after everything with Marius and Cosette, I just wanted something fun and easy to take my mind off of things.” Her hand went to her stomach again. “It was never supposed to turn out like this.”

“It’ll be okay,” Grantaire said, although he didn’t really believe the words himself.

“I’d better make that appointment,” Eponine said, glancing down at the phone still clutched in her hand. “Give me a sec.”

She went into the kitchen to make the call but Grantaire stayed where he was, turning this new reality over in his head. Images flashed through his mind; Eponine with a rounded belly like the woman on the pregnancy test package, a crib in her bedroom and baby clothes in her dresser, a tiny squalling baby with Eponine’s big brown eyes and Montparnasse’s dark hair. It was utterly surreal to think of Eponine with a child—to think of her being a _parent_ **.**

As the thought occurred to him, he suddenly remembered where he was supposed to be. He had been so focused on getting to Eponine and finding out what was wrong that he hadn’t even bothered to text Enjolras to tell him that he would be late for lunch, and now it had been over an hour. Enjolras would have left the restaurant by now, and there was no doubt that he would be furious at Grantaire. Heart beating fast, Grantaire fumbled in his pocket for his phone, expecting to find a series of disgruntled messages from his boyfriend, but to his surprise, there was only one. HIs mouth went dry as he opened it. There were just two words, but the hurt behind them made his stomach drop.

_**Enjolras, 3:45p.m.** _

_You promised._

Eponine reentered the room while he was staring at the screen, trying to formulate a response.

“R? Could you cover my shift at the Musain tomorrow? They’ve had a cancellation so they can see me tomorrow morning,” she was saying. “They have to do a blood test to confirm the pregnancy and then they’ll start—” She stopped, and although he was still staring helplessly at his phone, Grantaire felt her gaze on him. “Grantaire? What’s the matter?”

“It’s just Enjolras,” he started, but before he could continue, he heard Eponine suck in a breath.

“You were supposed to meet his parents today,” she said, sounding horrified. “Oh _shit **.**_ I’m sorry, R. I didn’t even think—I was just so freaked out and I needed someone, I’m sorry—“

“Stop,” he interrupted, pocketing his phone and standing up. “Jesus, Eponine, don’t apologise. What happened today was an emergency. There’ll be other chances for me to meet Enjolras’s parents. And anyway, you shouldn’t be worrying about anything but yourself right now.”

She bit her lip, looking troubled. “Still. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said firmly. He changed the subject then, afraid to continue talking about Enjolras in case he betrayed how sick the text had made him feel. “So. Your appointment is tomorrow morning. When will they have the results?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Eponine said. “They said they’d call me right away.”

“Great,” Grantaire said. “I can take your shift, I don’t have any lectures tomorrow morning, but are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? I bet we could find someone else to cover for you.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I think I need to do this part on my own.”

“Whatever you want. But you know I’m only a text away if you need me.”

She smiled at him. “I do know that,” she said, reaching up to hug him. “And I’m grateful. But right now you need to go and find Enjolras and apologise.”

“I can stay—”

“ _Go_ ,” Eponine ordered. “Chetta’s going to be home from work any minute now, I’ll be fine. Just go and find your boyfriend, okay?”

Grateful, Grantaire kissed her on the cheek and left. He passed Musichetta on his way out of the building, but didn’t pause to say hello; now that he’d left Eponine, his thoughts were focused entirely on Enjolras. He had to explain that he’d missed lunch because of an emergency.

Surely Enjolras would understand. He had to.

 


	5. The Three Musketeers of Dysfunctional Relationships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Enjolras argue, Courfeyrac pines for Jehan, and Eponine gets the results from her doctor's appointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why but this chapter was PAINFUL to write. Hopefully it's more fun to read, but for some reason getting this on the page was like trying to draw blood from a stone.
> 
> Oh, small disclaimer: I have no idea if anything relating to Eponine's doctor's appointment is even close to resembling what actually happens when someone is confirming a pregnancy. So, I think this goes without saying, but don't rely on fanfiction for medical advice, kids.

When Grantaire reached Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment, it was Combeferre who opened the door.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you right now,” Combeferre said quietly, standing so that he was blocking Grantaire from entering the apartment. He sounded like he didn’t want to be doing this, but Grantaire supposed that as Enjolras’s best friend, it was his duty to keep the bastard boyfriend away when he’d done something wrong. Still, that didn’t mean that Grantaire had to take it lying down.

“I screwed up,” Grantaire said, “but I swear I have a good reason. I just want to talk to him, tell him I’m sorry. After that, if he wants to tell me to go fuck myself, I’ll leave. Please, Combeferre, just let me in.”

“He doesn’t want to see you,” Combeferre said. “I think it’s better if you just go home, R. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not going home until I see Enjolras,” Grantaire said stubbornly, sticking his foot in the doorway so that Combeferre couldn’t shut him out. “I’ll stand here all day if I have to.”

Combeferre raised an eyebrow and then sighed. He disappeared and Grantaire heard murmuring from inside the apartment, followed by the very distinctive sound of Enjolras’s footsteps. Then the gap in the door widened further to reveal Enjolras, looking mutinous with his arms folded and his face drawn into a scowl. He looked wonderful, despite the anger on his face; he was still wearing the white shirt and dark slacks that he’d worn to lunch. Just looking at him made Grantaire’s heart stutter.

“I don’t want to talk to you, Grantaire.”

“Yeah, Combeferre said.”

“Then what are you still doing here?” Enjolras snapped.

“I wanted to apologise,” Grantaire said, reaching out to take Enjolras’s hand. Enjolras, however, snatched it away, and then glanced over his shoulder back at the apartment. After a moment’s consideration, he pushed Grantaire further out into the hallway and then shut the door.

“Apologise, then,” he said stiffly.

“I—“ Grantaire started, and then he faltered. Eponine’s situation was a sensitive one. He doubted she would want him spreading it around before she was ready to tell people. Not that telling Enjolras would count as spreading it around, exactly, but Grantaire didn’t want to betray Eponine’s confidence without clearing it with her first. He should have asked her before he left her apartment, but now it was too late, and Enjolras was staring at him with those expectant blue eyes, waiting for the truth. Grantaire couldn’t lie. But it wasn’t his place to tell Eponine’s secret, either.

“Grantaire?”

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “… I was on my way to the restaurant and Eponine texted me. It was an emergency, Enjolras, she needed me.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah. She’s—it’s complicated,” Grantaire said. “I can’t really talk about it right now. I know,” he said hastily, noticing the exasperation on Enjolras’s face. “I know it sounds like a bullshit excuse but it’s the truth, I’m sorry. All I can say right now is that there was a problem, Eponine needed me, and I couldn’t leave her alone. Please, please forgive me. I’m sorry, Enjolras.”

There was a beat of silence and then Enjolras was sighing, leaning back against the closed door.

“I wish that it were that simple,” he said, “but it’s not just the fact that you didn’t show up, Grantaire, it’s that you didn’t call.”

“I know. It was a dick move, I’m sorry, but I just—”

“Forgot,” Enjolras interrupted. “And if it was any other situation, I could overlook that, but you _knew_ how anxious I was about today. It wasn’t just a lunch date.” He looked away, avoiding Grantaire’s eyes. “It was meant to be my coming out. I was going to tell my parents the truth about me—about our relationship—and you were supposed to be there for it, and you weren’t.”

Grantaire’s stomach dropped. Enjolras wasn’t mad, he was _hurt_ , and it was all Grantaire’s fault. He’d been worried about Eponine and forgotten to text Enjolras to say he couldn’t make it, but that was no excuse. Enjolras had been terrified about today. Grantaire had let him down.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. He didn’t think he could say it too many times. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“What was wrong with Eponine?”

“I can’t tell you that. Not right now,” Grantaire said, desperation creeping up on him as he saw Enjolras’s brows knit together. “I _will_ tell you, I swear that I will, but I can’t right now.”

“I want to believe you,” Enjolras said softly. “But if you won’t tell me what happened, then how do I know that you’re not just making excuses?”

He was right. Grantaire couldn’t even be annoyed at Enjolras for doubting him, because he was absolutely right. It looked like Grantaire had just decided not to show up to lunch and was making up excuses for his absence.

“What about dinner?” he heard himself say. “We could meet your parents for dinner and explain everything? Please?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. He stepped back and put his hand on the doorknob and Grantaire’s heart seized, because he couldn’t be leaving, not now. They hadn’t resolved this yet.

“Enjolras—“

“I’ve got work to do,” Enjolras said, cutting him off. “And honestly, I just don’t feel like talking to you anymore right now, Grantaire. Goodbye.”

He let himself into the apartment before Grantaire could utter another word of protest and then Grantaire was left alone in the hall, staring at the closed door and wondering what exactly had just happened. He waited for the door to open again, but it didn’t. It seemed like an eternity passed before Grantaire was able to accept that Enjolras wasn’t going to come outside again.

With a lump in his throat, Grantaire turned and headed for the stairs.

 

 

 

 

_**Courfeyrac, 5:01p.m.** _

_SOS. Drinks at the Corinth?_

Grantaire frowned at the message. It had been over twenty-four hours since he’d last spoken to Enjolras and he’d assumed, when his phone beeped, that it was his boyfriend texting to reconcile. Failing that, he’d hoped for Eponine, with the results of her doctor’s appointment. But instead it was Courfeyrac, a plea coming across in the abrupt message. As Grantaire prepared to reply, the phone buzzed again.

_**Courfeyrac, 5:03p.m.** _

_I’ll pay for everything._

That was a red flag. Courfeyrac wasn’t cheap by any means, but _no-one_ ever offered to pay Grantaire’s entire bill on a night out—if they did, they’d be broke by the end of the night. Concerned now, he replied, telling Courfeyrac to meet him at the pub in fifteen minutes, and then started hunting for his jacket. Another text arrived as he was putting his arms into the sleeves.

_**Courfeyrac, 5:07p.m.** _

_Don’t ask the others._

Curious, and half-afraid that he was about to walk into another code red situation, Grantaire scribbled a quick note on the fridge to let Feuilly and Bahorel know where he was and then walked the short distance to the Corinth with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. As he walked through the city streets, he found himself thinking back to his argument with Enjolras the day before, and wondering when he would be calm enough to try talking to him again. If that would happen at all. From the moment that Grantaire’s relationship with Enjolras had begun, he’d been expecting himself to make some fatal error that would ruin things between them forever. Maybe this was it. Maybe Grantaire had royally fucked everything up, just like he’d always thought he would.

He banished the thought as he reached the Corinth. It was too early to think about that—he would give Enjolras a few days, and if things still looked bleak, well, then he could worry about the end of their relationship.

Courfeyrac was already there when he arrived, sitting in a booth by himself with two pints of beer in front of him. He held one up in greeting as Grantaire slid into the booth, raising it to his lips and sliding the other across the table towards Grantaire. While Courfeyrac drank, Grantaire took the opportunity to study him for a moment.

Although something was clearly the matter, he didn’t look like there was anything physically wrong with him, at least. His toffee curls were artfully mussed up as usual, and his outfit was impeccable, so whatever the problem was, it hadn’t prevented him from carrying out his regular grooming routine. Grantaire waited for him to swallow his beer and then raised an eyebrow.

“So,” he said. “What’s the problem, Courf?”

Courfeyrac sighed. “Jehan,” he said pitifully.

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile. In the wake of a serious problem like Eponine’s, and his own argument with Enjolras, it was oddly comforting to know that Courfeyrac was stressed about something mundane and ordinary. Grantaire felt sure that whatever it was that was worrying his friend, it was unimportant—it was clear to anyone who even knew them fleetingly that Courfeyrac and Jehan were mad about one another, and that it was only a matter of time before they ended up together.

“What’s the problem with Jehan, then?”

“He’s going on a date tonight,” Courfeyrac said, huffing out another sigh.

The smile slipped from Grantaire’s face and he felt guilty all of a sudden, as if he’d been laughing at Courfeyrac, although that had never been his intention. “Shit,” he said, reaching out to take a gulp of beer. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not like it’s your fault,” Courfeyrac said. “If anything, it’s mine. I was an idiot.”

“Whatever happened between you two, anyway?” Grantaire said carefully. Courfeyrac, despite being an intelligent and (mostly) mature person, had a tendency towards the dramatic—Grantaire didn’t want to send him off on one of his ten-minute long soliloquies. “You seemed like you were getting along over the summer. Weren’t you planning on telling him how you felt at the cabin?”

“That was the plan,” Courfeyrac agreed, “until I chickened out. I kept _wanting_ to tell him, but every time I had the opportunity, I avoided it. I kept getting hung up on what it would mean if we got together and broke up. I mean, you know me, R. How many of my exes am I still close with?”

“It’d be different with Jehan, you know it would,” Grantaire said immediately. “You’re already close. You’ve never gone out with a friend before.”

“See, logically, I know this,” Courfeyrac said, nodding in agreement, “but something just kept tripping me up whenever I thought about telling him. And then I kept thinking about how we’re not just friends, we’re roommates too, and how would that work if we were dating?” He sighed. “Basically, I kept getting hung up on stupid questions and completely screwed myself over. And every time I avoided telling him, I felt like shit, so I started avoiding him. And then things got weird, and then I decided that I should just forget about my stupid crush for the sake of our friendship.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t as easy as deciding to forget about it.”

“Hey, you pined over Enjolras for two years,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “You know as well as I do that just _deciding_ not to care about someone anymore doesn’t work. And now he’s going on a date.”

“That sucks, Courf,” Grantaire said, clinking his glass against Courfeyrac’s in what he hoped was a sympathetic gesture. And then, feeling almost guilty for prying, he asked, “Who’s he going out with?”

Courfeyrac sank down in his seat, his lower lip jutting out. “Some guy from his U.S. Poetry class. Sebastian something. I don’t know and I don’t care, I just want to drown my sorrows with someone who knows how it feels to pine over a friend. Cheers.” He raised his glass, which was almost empty, and then narrowed his eyes at Grantaire. “Although you’re over that, now, I guess. You’re a relationship person now. Weird.”

Grantaire winced, reminded of the fact that he and Enjolras were not, strictly speaking, on good terms right now. “It’s not all sunshine and rainbows on the other side of the fence,” he said, draining his beer. Courfeyrac frowned, fixing him with an intense stare.

“What’s that supposed to mean? What happened? Are you and Enjolras fighting?”

Grantaire revealed as much as he could, keeping Eponine’s predicament to himself and only telling Courfeyrac what had transpired between himself and Enjolras. It still wasn’t his place to tell Eponine’s secret, and if he’d argued with Enjolras rather than break that confidence, he certainly wasn’t just going to let it slip to Courfeyrac.

“It’ll blow over,” he said when he’d finished telling the story, but he didn’t even sound convincing to his own ears. Courfeyrac shook his head.

“Romance,” he said in disgust. “We’d be so much better off without it. Think of all of the time we’d have to do other things. We could learn new skills. Travel the world. _Not_ feel crippling pain when the people we care about don’t want to spend time with us.”

Grantaire smiled. There was Courfeyrac’s dramatic nature, peeking out for the first time that night.

“Next round’s on me,” Grantaire said, and disappeared to the bar.

To his surprise, when he returned to the booth, he found Eponine sitting in his vacated seat, an unreadable expression on her face. She looked up as he approached and slid over on the seat to make some room.

“Courfeyrac’s been telling me all about Jehan and his date tonight,” she said, her tone careful and measured. Grantaire knew the reason for that—she had something that she wanted to tell him, but she didn’t want to do it in front of Courfeyrac. She was holding herself together, but maybe only barely, and he had to get her somewhere where they could talk alone.

“I told you to come alone, R,” Courfeyrac said, obviously assuming that Grantaire had invited Eponine along for the night. “Although I suppose Eponine can be a member of the pining club, too. You did have that misguided crush on Marius last year.”

“Don’t remind me,” Eponine said, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I could use a cigarette,” Grantaire said suddenly. “’Ponine, come with me?”

Courfeyrac protested briefly about being left alone when the entire reason for this gathering, he claimed, was to cheer him up about Jehan’s date, but he quietened down when Grantaire promised to pay for the next round as well. Grantaire slipped his hand into Eponine’s and then tugged her through the crowded pub and outside, into the chilly autumn air.

“I went to your apartment and you weren’t there,” she said as they stepped outside. “Feuilly was just home from work, he said you’d be here—I know I could have texted, but I thought I should tell you in person.”

“Tell me what?”

There was a beat of silence and then Eponine was launching herself at him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck in a fierce embrace.

“I’m not pregnant,” she whispered into his ear, and Grantaire felt his entire body sag with relief.

He hugged her back as tightly as he could without hurting her and then set her down on the pavement so that he could look at her properly. Under the glow of the streetlights, Eponine looked better than she had in weeks—although dark circles were still prominent on her face, her eyes were bright and happy, and there was a flush to her cheeks that had been missing the day before.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” she confirmed, beaming. “I spoke to the doctor at the clinic and told her that the test was positive, and she said that can happen sometimes. The tests they did on me don’t lie though—I’m not pregnant, I never was. They want to keep an eye on me to make sure there’s nothing wrong—they’re actually tracking my cycle, which is kind of weird—but she said it’s more than likely a stress thing, what with going back to school and interning at the communications firm and working at the Musain on top of everything. But that doesn’t even matter, I don’t care about that right now. R, _I’m not pregnant **.**_ ”

“That’s amazing,” Grantaire said, a grin spreading across his face to match Eponine’s. He swept her into another hug, squeezing tightly, earning a laugh in response.

“I was so scared, you know?” she said. “It wasn’t even the thought of having a kid that freaked me out, but the thought of having one with Montparnasse…” She trailed off, shuddering. Grantaire could understand. He wouldn’t want to be tied to Montparnasse forever, either.

“Are you going to tell him that you thought you were pregnant?”

“Not a chance in hell,” Eponine said immediately. “This whole thing has been a wake-up call, Grantaire. I’ve been seeing Montparnasse because he’s good in bed, not because I actually care about him—I keep saying that I’m too young to be in a serious relationship, but I don’t think I realised until now that just having fun can have serious consequences, too. If I _had_ been pregnant, it would have changed my life completely. Montparnasse would have to be a permanent fixture. I don’t want that. I’m ending things with him.”

“Good for you,” Grantaire said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “If it doesn’t feel right, it doesn’t feel right. When are you doing it?”

She chewed her lip. “Well, that’s the other reason why I wanted to talk to you in person,” she said. “I wanted to do it tonight, but I don’t want to go alone. You know what he can be like. I figured if I brought you with me…”

“He’d be less likely to kick off,” Grantaire finished. “Yeah, I get it. I’ve got your back, ’Ponine.” He gave a cheesy wink and then faltered. “Shit. I promised Courfeyrac that I’d hang out with him. He’s depressed about Jehan going out tonight.”

“Bring him,” Eponine said, shrugging. “We can go to Montparnasse’s place and then come back here to celebrate my new lease on life.” Her eyes sparkled. “Shots are on me.”

 

 

 

 

Surprisingly, it took no convincing to get Courfeyrac to agree to accompany them to Montparnasse’s apartment; as soon as he heard what they were going there to do, he was on board. They walked there in a row of three, with Eponine in the middle, her arms linked through both Courfeyrac’s and Grantaire’s. Grantaire could practically feel the determination radiating off of her.

He’d never been more proud.

Montparnasse’s apartment was in one of the rougher neighbourhoods in the city, in a dirty, red-brick building with a broken front door and graffiti sprayed on the steps. Eponine wedged the door open with expert ease and then strode ahead, leaving Grantaire and Courfeyrac to catch up.

“Look at our girl go,” Courfeyrac murmured to Grantaire, who could hear his own pride for Eponine reflected in Courfeyrac’s voice. “She’s all grown up.”

Any other time, it might have sounded condescending, but Grantaire found that he knew exactly what Courfeyrac was talking about. For Eponine, Montparnasse had always represented immaturity and childishness—like she’d said outside the Corinth, being with him was never about love or even emotions. It was about meaningless fun, with no strings attached and no responsibilities. Eponine desperately wanted to avoid being alone, but after being disappointed by Marius, she was afraid of opening her heart again. Being with Montparnasse kept the loneliness at bay, but their entire relationship was just a means of passing the time for both of them.

Now, Eponine knew that even meaningless fun could have drastic consequences, and even though Grantaire knew her well enough to know that the thought of being alone terrified her, she was choosing to be alone to make sure that those consequences didn’t fall on her. 

Montparnasse lived on the third floor, at the end of the hall. The paint on his front door was chipped and the apartment number, 3D, was hanging upside down. Eponine raised her fist and rapped sharply on the door and then looked back at Grantaire and Courfeyrac, who were hovering patiently behind her.

“Brace yourself,” she said, and then the door opened.

As he always did when faced with Montparnasse, Grantaire found himself wondering how such a terrible personality could lurk behind such a handsome face. Montparnasse was beautiful—not to Enjolras’s standards, but he certainly came close, with his defined jaw-line, silky black hair and piercing dark eyes. Right now, his hair was ruffled and stubble coated his jaw. A cigarette dangled from his lips, smoke winding towards the ceiling. He was wearing a pair of loose fitting grey tracksuit bottoms and a tight black t-shirt, tattoos winding down from the sleeves. He looked surprised to see them, but the surprise vanished almost instantly and he reached out to put a hand on Eponine’s waist, tugging so that her body was pressed flush against his.

“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice deep and throaty. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

He leaned down to kiss her, but Eponine put a hand on his chest and kept him at bay. “I need to talk to you,” she said firmly, shouldering her way into the apartment. She looked back at Courfeyrac and Grantaire. “Wait here.”

Montparnasse gave them a wary glance and then retreated into the apartment, shutting the door behind them. Grantaire heard Montparnasse ask what was going on, but after that, it became impossible to discern what was being said. He could tell that the discussion in the apartment was growing heated, and then there was the sound of something breaking. He tensed, ready to burst in and help Eponine, but Courfeyrac shook his head.

“I think she’s got this,” he said. “She’ll call if she needs help.”

And then a few minutes later, Eponine emerged, looking perfectly composed.

“Right,” she said calmly. “Drinks on me?”

Within a half hour, they were back at the Corinth, and Eponine was regaling them with what had actually gone on behind the closed door of apartment 3D. Apparently, Montparnasse hadn’t taken too kindly to her deciding to end their relationship; his first response had been to plead with her, and when that failed, he’d thrown a chair across the room. When the show of force failed to sway Eponine’s mind, he’d finally, bemusedly, accepted that she wanted to end things.

“Look at us,” Courfeyrac said when she’d finished. “The three musketeers of dysfunctional relationships.”

The comment made Eponine frown and she turned to look at Grantaire, eyebrows raised. “Since when is your relationship dysfunctional?”

“It’s not,” Grantaire protested. “Well. Not usually. Enjolras isn’t exactly talking to me, right now. But it’ll blow over,” he said, and once again, he failed even at convincing himself.

Eponine’s expression grew concerned all of a sudden. “It’s not… is he mad because of yesterday?” she asked. Grantaire gave a nod and Eponine sighed, making Courfeyrac glance between the two of them, confused. “Didn’t you tell him?”

“Not everything. Nothing specific. I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“Well, thank you for that,” Eponine said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “But honestly, you can tell him. In fact, you should. _I_ should tell people, I don’t want to bottle up all of those feelings. It’s probably not healthy.” She turned to Courfeyrac and said, matter-of-factly, “Courf, the reason that I broke up with Montparnasse tonight is because I had a pregnancy scare.”

Courfeyrac spluttered, beer dripping down his chin. “Pardon?”

“A pregnancy scare,” Eponine repeated. “There, R, I’ve ripped the band-aid off already. Tell Enjolras whatever you have to tell him to make him talk to you again. I refuse to be responsible for ruining your relationship.”

“It’s not ruined,” Grantaire protested.

“It will be if he thinks you’re hiding something from him,” Eponine said. “So just tell him, alright? I’m giving you permission. In fact, I’m ordering you to do it.”

Grantaire hesitated. “Alright,” he said at last. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m more than sure.”

A silence settled over the table, broken after a moment by Courfeyrac clearing his throat. “Sorry,” he said, sounding almost sheepish, “but… details?”


	6. Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Enjolras patch things up and Enjolras comes clean to his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a huge thank you to anyone who's read, commented or left kudos on this fic so far - right now I think we've got about another 3 chapters left before it's finished, so I hope you stick around til the end! :)

The next morning, Grantaire set out for Enjolras’s apartment with one thing on his mind: setting things right between them. Eponine had given her blessing for him to tell the truth, so there was nothing stopping him from apologising properly this time.

If he was lucky, he might even be able to catch Enjolras’s parents before they left the city. They could have the meeting that Grantaire had missed out on, and Enjolras would get the chance to have his coming out moment. All Grantaire had to do was get to the apartment and apologise.

But just like the day before, when Grantaire knocked on the door, he was met by Combeferre, looking agitated and uncomfortable.

“It’s not a good time, Grantaire,” he said quietly, angling his body so that Grantaire couldn’t see into the apartment.

“‘Ferre, I know that you’re his best friend and you’re just trying to protect him, but trust me when I say that letting me in is the best thing you can do for him right now,” Grantaire said. “I want to tell him the truth about what happened the other day. Come on, it’s what he wants, he told me.”

Combeferre started to speak, but before he could respond, there came the sound of breaking glass from the apartment.

“Damn it,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. When he looked back at Grantaire, there was something frantic in his gaze. “Look, Grantaire, let me be honest with you. When I say it’s not a good time, I don’t mean that Enjolras doesn’t want to talk to you. I mean it’s _really_ not a good time. Enjolras’s parents are here.”

As if on cue, there was another shattering noise from behind Combeferre. Grantaire raised his eyebrows.

“Do Enjolras’s parents normally break things when they visit?”

“They’re arguing with him,” Combeferre said. “I don’t even know what it’s about—something to do with Senator Lamarque—but they’ve been at it for hours. It would really be better if you came back later. I’ll tell Enjolras that you were here.”

“Combeferre—”

But Combeferre had already started to retreat, pulling the door closed behind him. Before he could shut it completely, Grantaire heard a distinctly recognisable shout from within the apartment. He would know that voice anywhere—it was Enjolras, except he didn’t sound like his usual confident self. He sounded younger; distressed, upset, almost childlike. The moment that he heard him, Grantaire was shouldering his way into the apartment, pushing past Combeferre when he tried to block his path.

“Grantaire, you really don’t want to do this. Alphonse and Solange are bad enough when they’re in a good mood, you _don’t_ want to meet them when they’re annoyed,” Combeferre said desperately, but Grantaire wasn’t listening.

Maybe he was being reckless, but he had _never_ heard Enjolras sound as vulnerable as just now. That, coupled with the sounds of breaking glass and the raised voices that he could now hear coming from the kitchen, made Grantaire’s protective instincts kick in. Sure, Enjolras was mad at him right now, but he was also upset. Grantaire had promised to be by his side when he confronted his parents. He may have failed the first time, but now, he intended to make good on that promise.

He headed straight for the kitchen, and was met by a scene straight out of a soap opera. There was Enjolras, standing with his back flat against the refrigerator, facing two people who were at once unfamiliar and instantly recognisable to Grantaire. He had never seen them before in his life, but even if he hadn’t known who they were, he was sure he would have been able to point to them as Enjolras’s parents.

Enjolras’s mother—Solange—was beautiful, with the same golden curls as her son, smooth, pale skin and clear blue eyes. She was dressed stylishly in a perfectly tailored cream pantsuit with a pale pink blouse and a patterned scarf. Gold bracelets circled her wrists, and her nails, Grantaire could see, were manicured to perfection and painted the same pale pink as her blouse. Her beauty was marred by the scowl twisting her features and the broken glass in her hand—Grantaire deduced that she was the one who had been smashing things.

Her husband Alphonse was a harder version of his son, older, greyer, more intimidating. His hair was trimmed short, the gold tinged with iron grey, and there were wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. Enjolras had inherited his strong jaw, but on his father, it seemed more defined. There was none of Enjolras’s kindness or idealism in Alphonse’s eyes, only a cold, steady blankness. Like his wife, he was dressed in business attire, a charcoal grey suit and crisp white shirt.

It was Alphonse who noticed Grantaire’s arrival first, and he fixed him with a hard look that made Grantaire waver a little.

“Excuse me, but this is a family matter,” he said, his voice grave and heavy. “We would appreciate some privacy.”

“Combeferre, I told you, it’s fine,” Enjolras said as he turned around, clearly expecting his roommate. When he saw Grantaire standing in the doorway instead, something passed over his face. “… Grantaire. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about the other day,” Grantaire said somewhat awkwardly, afraid of revealing something in front of Enjolras’s parents. “Er. About what happened with Eponine.”

He hoped desperately that Enjolras would understand what he was trying to say—judging from the way Enjolras’s eyebrows shot up, he did. There was a tense pause and then Enjolras turned back to his parents, clearing his throat.

“Mom, Dad,” he said calmly, “could you excuse me for just a moment? It won’t take long.”

His father’s expression grew stormy. “We are in the middle of a discussion, Enjolras.”

“It won’t take long,” Enjolras repeated. “Please.”

There was no reply, but Enjolras seemed to take this as assent and left the kitchen, slipping his hand into Grantaire’s as he passed. He tugged Grantaire onto the little terrace that they sometimes drank on during the summer, although it was beginning to get too cold to be out here in the evenings. Even now, mid-morning, the air was chilly. Enjolras checked to make sure that the door was shut and then met Grantaire’s eyes, folding his arms and silently telling him that he could begin.

Grantaire told the story in a rush, afraid to leave any details out, but more afraid that Enjolras would tell him that their time was up and he had to get back to his parents. When he finished, Enjolras’s expression was unreadable; unsure if he’d been forgiven or not, Grantaire found himself babbling even when there was nothing more to say.

“I just panicked, you know? I should have texted you the minute I knew that I wasn’t going to make it to lunch, but I was just so freaked out about Eponine because code red means serious shit and I—”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupted. “Stop babbling. I understand, I forgive you.” He frowned. “How is she? Eponine?”

“She’s fine,” Grantaire said. “Still a little freaked out about everything, but she said that it’s a good thing. I mean, it sounds weird to me, but it got her to break up with Montparnasse, so maybe it _is_ a good thing. You really forgive me? You’re not still mad?”

Enjolras sighed. “I’m not mad. I don’t think I was ever mad, I was just upset. And then on top of everything I had to deal with my parents, and I don’t know if you noticed it back there, but they’re not the easiest people to be around.”

“I got that vibe,” Grantaire said. “What’s going on, Enjolras?”

“They told me that they want me to stop working for Lamarque and I told them I wouldn’t do it. That was a couple of hours ago and we’ve been going in circles ever since, but now that Mom’s started throwing things, it means they’re almost done. Another hour or two and she’ll be ready to go back to the hotel and drink her weight in Sauvignon Blanc.”

There was a bitter resignation to his voice that made Grantaire’s stomach turn. He was reminded suddenly of all the times that Enjolras had reprimanded him about his drinking habits and he felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe Enjolras’s issues with alcohol went deeper than he had initially thought.

“Shit, Enjolras. I’m sorry. I probably made things worse by barging in on you.”

“Don’t apologise, it’s not your fault,” Enjolras said, frowning. “And I’m glad that you’re here, that you came to tell me the truth. I’m glad that we’ve fixed things.”

The size of the balcony meant that there wasn’t much space between them to begin with, but Enjolras stepped closer to Grantaire anyway, leaning down to press their lips together in a soft kiss that made Grantaire’s knees buckle. It was such a simple, sweet gesture, but after a day of not speaking, it was _everything_.

Something occurred to him as Enjolras’s hands found his hips though, and he pulled back.

“Since you haven’t said anything, I’m guessing you still haven’t told your parents about us,” he said.

“I haven’t,” Enjolras said, “but why are you bringing that up now?”

“The door is glass,” Grantaire pointed out. “They could come out to see where you’ve gone and see us. That’s not the way that you want them to find out, Enjolras, trust me.”

Enjolras frowned. “You’re right,” he said. Then, inexplicably, he reached out for Grantaire’s hand and started to tug him back into the apartment.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting this over with,” Enjolras said simply. “I told you before, I’m not going to lie about our relationship to make them happy.”

“It’s not lying if you just don’t _say_ anything. You’ve said it before, it’s only going to cause more problems for you. They’re already pissed about Lamarque, why add fuel to the fire?”

“Because I don’t want to hide you like some dirty little secret!”

“And I don’t want to make your parents any angrier than they already are!” Grantaire said, making Enjolras stop dead. “Look, it’s sweet that you want to do this for me. It really is. But it’s only going to make things worse, Enjolras. They’re only here for a few more days, why don’t we just lay low until they leave?”

Enjolras stared at him. “Grantaire,” he said, “did it ever occur to you that I’m not just doing this for _you_?”

“But you said—”

“That I don’t want to hide you, yes,” Enjolras said impatiently. “I saw how paranoid you got when I was hiding my parents’ texts from you, I don’t want to do anything to make you act like that again. But I don’t want to hide either, Grantaire. I’m sick and tired of my parents controlling my life. I’m always talking about standing up to our oppressors and making the world a better place, but how am I supposed to make that happen if I can’t even stand up to my own parents?”

Grantaire blinked. Enjolras sounded so sure, so passionate, just like he did at Les Amis meetings when they were working on a cause that he cared about. He sounded like he was ready—but there was still some doubt lingering in Grantaire’s mind, a nagging fear that Enjolras was making a mistake.

“Are you sure about this?” he said, because he didn’t know what else he could say.

Enjolras nodded. “More sure than I’ve ever been about anything in my life. I’m going to tell my parents that I won’t quit working for Lamarque, and then I’m going to tell them about us and let the chips fall where they may. If they cut me off, then I’ll deal with it. It’s time I stood up for myself, Grantaire. Not just for me, but for the people I care about.”

And really, how was Grantaire supposed to argue with that?

 

 

 

When they went inside, they found Enjolras’s parents had left the kitchen and were sitting on the couch in the living room. For a moment, Grantaire was afraid that they had seen Enjolras kissing him through the glass doors that led to the balcony, but when nobody started shouting at their arrival, he figured that they were safe.

Maybe not for long, though—Enjolras seemed to be in a hurry to make good on his promise. He strode across the living room, Grantaire trailing behind him, and then stood in front of his parents with his shoulders squared.

“Mom,” he said, “Dad. I’ve thought carefully about everything that you said about Senator Lamarque, and I want you to know, after taking everything into consideration, I’ve decided that I’ll be keeping my internship at his office. It’s been an invaluable experience so far and I only expect there to be more benefits in the future, so I’m sure you understand.”

There was a heavy pause and then Alphonse gave a deep sigh.

“That’s disappointing, Enjolras,” he said. “I had hoped that you were smarter than that. Surely you can see that Lamarque’s campaign is going nowhere?”

“With all due respect, I disagree,” Enjolras said firmly.

“There’s nothing we can say to change your mind?” his mother said. Solange’s voice was light and pleasant; hardly what Grantaire would have expected from a woman who apparently liked to break glasses when things weren’t going her way.

“Nothing at all,” Enjolras said. “I’ll be staying on with Senator Lamarque and that’s that.”

Grantaire waited for Enjolras’s parents to flip out, but they seemed strangely calm—perhaps they had used up all of their anger before Grantaire’s arrival. He doubted that that would be the case when Enjolras said the rest of what he wanted to say. Everything Enjolras had said about his parents pointed towards them being closed-minded and homophobic.

“Well, I’m disappointed that you’re attaching yourself to a dead campaign, son,” his father said. “But I suppose there’s something to be said for sticking with your ideals. It won’t serve you well in the long run, mind. When Lamarque loses the race, you’ll see it was a mistake. I can’t promise we’ll be able to help you when that happens—politics is a tricky business, you know that. But you can afford to be young and stupid for a little while longer.”

Grantaire felt his blood boil. Enjolras, stupid? He had never heard anything so ridiculous in his life.

Enjolras seemed indifferent to the comment—however, when his parents stood and said that it was probably time for them to leave, something changed in him. Grantaire knew that he was watching his chance to reveal himself slip through his fingers all over again. He’d sounded so brave on the balcony, but maybe he was afraid that if he didn’t tell the truth right now, he would never be able to do it. Grantaire could hardly blame him. He had known Alphonse and Solange for barely an hour and even he was intimidated by them.

“Wait,” Enjolras said, sounding panicked. “Could you just… could you sit for a minute?”

Solange eyed him suspiciously. “What’s this about, Enjolras?”

“Just… could you please just sit?”

They sat, suspicion colouring both of their faces.

“What’s the matter now?” Alphonse said, sounding exasperated. Like Enjolras was a child who wanted to show off a toy. Once again, Grantaire felt a rush of anger towards Enjolras’s father.

“Well,” Enjolras said, faltering. He looked back at Grantaire, who gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile. It seemed to work. Enjolras straightened his back and drew Grantaire forward to stand beside him. “I know we’ve had an arrangement for the past few years where you pay my tuition in exchange for me keeping you informed on what’s going on in my life. The last few months I’ve withheld things from you, but I think that it’s time I came clean. Keeping things hidden… it’s not good for anyone.”

He hesitated, and while he tried to gather his words, Solange sighed. “Honestly, Enjolras, what on earth is this about? Are you in trouble?”

“The opposite, actually,” Enjolras said, giving a little laugh. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been. And it’s all because of him.” He took Grantaire’s hand and then looked at his parents with a clear, steady gaze. “Mom, Dad, this is Grantaire. He’s my boyfriend. We’ve been together for three months now, and he makes me happy. I thought you’d want to know.”

Once again, a tense silence followed Enjolras’s words. Grantaire felt immensely awkward standing there in the living room, his hand clasped in Enjolras’s while his parents looked on, dumbfounded. After what seemed like an eternity, Solange emitted a high-pitched laugh, raising a hand to her mouth as she did so.

“Is this a joke?” she said.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

“You must be joking,” she said, shaking her head. When Enjolras didn’t say anything, she turned to Alphonse, letting out another shrill giggle. “Alphonse. Talk to him. He’s delusional.”

“I’m not _delusional_ ,” Enjolras said, sounding offended. “I’m gay.”

“You can’t be gay!” Solange half-shouted. “You’re our son, for God’s sake, we didn’t raise you to be some… some… _depraved_ pervert!”

“You didn’t raise me at all,” Enjolras retorted. “You let the staff take care of that. And it doesn’t matter, anyway, because it wouldn’t make a difference if you’d been the greatest mother in the world. I’m gay, I was born gay, and I’d be gay if you’d been the overcompensating alcoholic you are now or mother of the year!”

“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” Alphonse said, his voice dangerously low.

Grantaire’s palms were beginning to sweat as the tension in the room climbed. Here it came, the explosion that he had known was coming from the moment Enjolras decided to reveal their relationship to his parents. He wondered if he could convince Enjolras to leave before Solange started throwing things.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said icily. “But being called a pervert tends to make me forget my manners.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Enjolras,” Alphonse said. “You always were looking for ways to get attention as a child. I suppose that this is just another one of your misguided attempts to do that? I’m disappointed in you. I thought that you’d grown out of that childish behaviour, but that obviously isn’t the case.”

Enjolras stared at him. “This isn’t a bid for attention, Dad. I’m trying to be honest with you about who I am.”

“You’re acting out,” Alphonse snapped. “Deliberately rebelling against us just because you _can_. Well, I won’t stand for it, Enjolras. You’re not a child any longer. You’ll end things with this—this _boy_ immediately, or you won’t like what happens.”

“This boy has a name,” Enjolras said. “It’s Grantaire.”

“His name doesn’t matter,” Alphonse said, his eyes flickering over Grantaire in disgust. “This… whatever you want to call _this_ doesn’t matter. It’s a phase, Enjolras, an act of rebellion intended to shock us. Well, you’ve succeeded, so you can put an end to it now.”

“It’s not a phase,” Enjolras retorted.

“You’re sick,” Solange said suddenly. “He’s manipulating you, Enjolras, can’t you see? He’s playing mind games with you and tricking you into being with him. You’re not gay, sweetheart, you can’t be.”

The endearment fell flat. Grantaire supposed that it was the accusations of manipulation that did it.

“If you think anyone could manipulate Enjolras into doing something he didn’t want to do, then you don’t know your son as well as you think you do,” he said. Immediately, Solange’s gaze was trained on his.

“Don’t you dare talk about my relationship with my son,” she hissed. “You nasty, wicked little pervert. You’ve corrupted him, I know you have. There’s no other way to explain this.”

The vitriol in her voice was terrifying. Instinctively, Grantaire stepped closer to Enjolras, who, it appeared, had had enough of his parents’ denial.

“Mom, Dad, I didn’t _have_ to tell you this,” he said firmly. “I could have kept it to myself and let you go home without knowing the truth—in fact, Grantaire tried to convince me to do that. But I told you because I wanted to be honest about who I was. Now you can either accept it and move on, or you can leave, but I’m not going to let you stand here and insult my boyfriend. It’s up to you.”

Alphonse stared long and hard at Enjolras, a deep frown etched into his face. “You’ll regret this, son,” he said at last, and then without another word, he led his wife out of the apartment.

The moment the door closed behind them, Enjolras gave a sigh, his entire body sagging with relief. Grantaire immediately wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug, burying his head in Enjolras’s shoulder.

“You did it,” he murmured against Enjolras’s skin.

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, sounding dazed. “I did it.”

Grantaire had never been more proud.

 


	7. Adventures in Romantic Espionage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras looks for a job, Courfeyrac spies on Jehan, and Grantaire and Enjolras reconnect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gasp* It's an update! For some reason writing this chapter was like drawing blood from a stone, so hopefully it's not too terrible. And hopefully there won't be another month between updates, though I'm going back to college next week so I can't promise anything.
> 
> This one includes actual porn, for which I apologise profusely. I tried, guys! I tried!

Technically, Grantaire was supposed to be working. Thanks to a rash of cancelled lectures, he was scheduled from eight until four today, but at eleven o’clock, he’d already spent more time sipping coffee in the Musain than he had behind the counter. He wasn’t intentionally slacking off, but it seemed like every time he went to do some actual work, the door swung open to admit another of his friends. Every time that happened, he had to abandon his post to go and fill them in on everything that had happened with Enjolras and his parents.

Well, not everything—Enjolras was still adamant that he didn’t want their friends to know the whole truth about his parents’ less than stellar personalities. Grantaire could hardly blame him. If he was Alphonse and Solange’s son, he would probably feel the same.

But Enjolras _did_ want everyone to know that he’d come out and that it hadn’t been received well. It was something he had implored Grantaire to do not long after his parents had left the apartment that day.

“I can’t do it myself, R,” he’d said, sounding wearier and more drained than any person should after speaking to their family. “Please, could you just do it for me?”

So, like a good boyfriend, Grantaire had graciously accepted the task. It would probably have made more sense for him to wait until everyone was gathered together, but he was impatient. And honestly, he was proud of Enjolras. He couldn’t resist the chance to brag about how brave his boyfriend was.

He’d broken the news to Joly first thing that morning when he stopped by for his usual latte before class. Next to listen to Grantaire’s gushing was Musichetta, just dropping by the Musain on her way to work. Then Bahorel had appeared with circles under his eyes and a demand for two extra shots of espresso in his coffee. He’d left with three, plus the story of Enjolras’s coming out.

Now, Grantaire was sitting across the table from Jehan, who was listening to the story with wide eyes. Jehan was an excellent listener. Grantaire assumed it had something to do with being a poetry student. 

“They just left?” Jehan said once Grantaire had finished. “Have they called since?”

“As far as I know, he hasn’t heard a word from them since it happened,” Grantaire replied, stealing Jehan’s cup of chai tea and taking a sip. “They’re supposed to be staying until the weekend, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved their flight up. It was ugly.”

“Poor Enjolras,” Jehan said sympathetically. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s better than I would have expected. They were never close before, so it’s not as if a lot has changed, I guess. And he always thought that they disapproved of him, so having them admit it out loud probably wasn’t a huge shock.”

Jehan frowned, swiping his tea back. “It still can’t be easy. We all have to rally around him. Maybe I’ll knit him a scarf.”

He fiddled with the ratty woollen edge of his own scarf, a heavy purple monstrosity that he’d knitted for himself the previous winter. Whenever any of their friends were going through a difficult time, Jehan’s solution was to knit them a scarf. Grantaire currently had three of them hidden away in the back of his closet. He had never worn one in public, though he had to admit that the oversized green and black one made an excellent blanket when he was sprawled out on the couch at home.

“Sure, Jehan,” he said. “I bet he’d love that.”

Jehan lingered in the cafe for a few minutes more before slipping out the door with a wave and a hastily blown kiss in Grantaire’s direction. Grantaire returned to work then, much to the relief of his manager, and he actually managed a few hours of productivity before his attention was drawn away once again.

At three o’clock, an hour before his shift was due to finish, Enjolras arrived at the Musain with a very subdued looking Courfeyrac in tow. They waved at Grantaire, trapped behind the counter thanks to a line that had suddenly tripled in size, and made their way to one of the booths at the back of the cafe. Grantaire wasn’t able to leave his post to go and say hello, but he sent one of the waitresses over with a hot chocolate for each of them. Judging from the dark cloud that seemed to be hovering over them, they could use it.

He wasn’t able to join them until the end of his shift, by which time he wanted nothing more than to just go home and curl up on the couch with a movie. Judging from the papers and folders that Enjolras had spread out on the table, however, he intended to be here for a while.

Grantaire dropped into the seat beside Enjolras and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

“What’s all this?” he asked, indicating the papers. He saw that both Enjolras’s and Courfeyrac’s cups were empty and signalled to a waitress to bring some more. While he was doing so, Enjolras was scribbling furiously on a scrap of paper.

“Research,” Enjolras said, nearly ripping a hole through a sheet as he circled something.

“For your latest cause?”

Grantaire wasn’t even sure what the cause of the week was. For the last few weeks, he’d been entirely too preoccupied with worrying about Eponine and Enjolras to even think about the rest of the world. But Enjolras was shaking his head anyway, something like amusement flickering over his features.

“For a job,” he clarified. When he looked up at Grantaire, it was with a self-deprecating smirk. “My parents have cut me off. Officially. My father called to tell me this morning.”

“Asshole,” Courfeyrac interjected helpfully. Grantaire ignored the remark.

“He called just to tell you that he won’t be footing your bills anymore? That’s harsh.”

“Well, that,” Enjolras said. “And to tell me that they’re going to fly home tomorrow instead of Friday. They won’t be visiting for my birthday, or for the foreseeable future, until I get over this ‘regrettable rebellious phase’. He also wanted me to know that he would appreciate it if I didn’t tell any of my extended family about my lapse in judgment, because it will be that much harder for me to recover from it if I spread it around like one of those tabloid magazines with a story about the Kardashians.” He gave a bitter little laugh. “Can you believe that? He tried to make it seem as if he was trying to protect me by suppressing my identity.”

Grantaire didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just reached out to squeeze Enjolras’s knee instead. Courfeyrac sighed.

“I always knew your dad was a dick, but this is something else,” he said unhappily. “So they’re not paying for anything anymore?”

Enjolras shook his head. “Not a thing. My tuition is paid until the end of the semester, but after Christmas break, I’m on my own. I’ll have to pay for rent, uni, electricity, my phone bill.” He frowned down at the mess of paper littering the table. “So I’m applying for every vacancy in the city.”

“You should meet with the financial aid office,” Grantaire suggested. “They’re usually pretty understanding when it comes to family stuff.”

“And I bet Feuilly could help, he’s the king of part-time employment,” Courfeyrac added.

“Thanks,” Enjolras said, smiling gratefully.

There was a beat of silence and then Courfeyrac cleared his throat, looking somewhat sheepish.

“Er, now that we’ve decided on Enjolras’s plans for the future,” he said, fixing his gaze on Grantaire’s, “I was hoping that you could help me out with something, R.”

“Oh my God,” Enjolras said, dropping his pen and looking up at Courfeyrac in disbelief. “You’re serious? I thought you were joking. You can’t honestly want him to spy on Jehan with you.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows and Courfeyrac hurried to explain.

“I just want to see what this Sebastian guy is like,” he said. “See if he’s good enough for Jehan.”

“Oh, so you’re looking out for him?” Enjolras said with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, I am,” Courfeyrac said, defensive. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Courf,” Grantaire said. He didn’t have to say anything else.

“Alright, fine,” Courfeyrac relented. “I’m jealous. I’m so jealous that I can’t think about anything else. I want to get a look at the competition. Is that so wrong? It’s not like I’m going to **do** anything, I just want to see them together.”

“Well, what do you need me for?”

“Like they’re not going to notice me if I’m there alone,” Courfeyrac said. “Please, Grantaire, I’ll owe you for life. You know that if you wanted to spy on Enjolras I’d be right there with you!”

Enjolras quirked an eyebrow. “I hope spying on me is never something Grantaire feels the need to do, but it’s good to know that he won’t be alone, if it ever comes to that.”

“Courf—”

“ _Please_ , Grantaire!”

Grantaire sighed. It didn’t look like there was any getting out of this.

“Alright,” he said. “But you owe me.”

 

 

 

 

That evening saw Grantaire and Courfeyrac in a little pizza place near the university. It seemed like a strange place for Jehan to choose for a date. Grantaire felt certain that it was the mysterious Sebastian who had chosen the venue, because the exposed brickwork and red and white checked tablecloths were about as far from Jehan’s personal taste as it was possible to get.

They had arranged to arrive just a little bit after Jehan and Sebastian so that they could find a table where they would have a good view, but still be hidden from the couple. This plan had almost backfired—for such a small restaurant, it was surprisingly busy, and it had taken several minutes of pleading with the hostess to get them a table. It was right in the back, beside the kitchen door, which would have been annoying if they had been there for any other reason. For their purposes, however, it was perfect.

They were sharing a pepperoni pizza between them, though Courfeyrac wasn’t eating much. His attention was entirely focused on Jehan and Sebastian, sitting in a table right in the centre of the room. By all accounts, it looked like they were having a good time, though Grantaire was tactful enough not to say so to Courfeyrac.

It seemed as though it didn’t escape his attention, however. As Jehan laughed at something Sebastian had said, Courfeyrac gave a sigh.

“This is pathetic,” he said. Grantaire swallowed a mouthful of hot cheese and sauce, eyebrows raised.

“You’re only realising this _now_?”

He felt a little guilty for the sarcasm when his eyes met Courfeyrac’s and he saw the pain reflected there. With all of his melodrama and exaggeration, it was easy to forget that Courfeyrac did actually care about Jehan. Possibly more than Grantaire had given him credit for. Remembering how painful it had been when he was pining for Enjolras from afar, Grantaire resolved to be more understanding of Courfeyrac’s situation. After all, if Enjolras had ever dated before they got together, he was fairly certain that he would have been just as irrational and pathetic.

“I hate this,” Courfeyrac said miserably. “I was happy being Jehan’s friend before, you know? I don’t know what changed.”

“We can’t help who we fall for,” Grantaire said, awkward.

He wasn’t sure how he kept getting roped into his friends’ relationships, but it was becoming an increasingly irritating trend.

“I was going to tell him how I felt,” Courfeyrac said. “I guess I just thought that I had more time. I never thought about him going out with someone else.” He paused, blinking. “That’s such a shitty thing to think, isn’t it? Like I didn’t think he could get a date.”

“You miscalculated,” Grantaire said. “The timing was wrong. It doesn’t mean it’s never going to happen.”

Courfeyrac looked across the restaurant, at Jehan and Sebastian poring over a dessert menu. He shook his head.

“He likes him. I can see it. I’m not going to screw that up for him.”

Grantaire watched Courfeyrac. “That was why you wanted to come here tonight, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just about scoping out the competition. You wanted to know how he felt about Sebastian.”

Courfeyrac averted his gaze guiltily. “I’m awful, I know.”

“It’s kind of sweet, in a twisted way,” Grantaire said. “For the record, Courf, I still think you should tell Jehan how you feel. Sure, he seems like he likes this guy, but maybe he’s letting himself fall for him because he thinks that he doesn’t have a chance with _you_. I could be wrong, but I think it’s worth a shot, don’t you?”

Courfeyrac hesitated, considering, and then shook his head. “Nah. I don’t want to mess with his head.” His gaze flickered to Jehan’s table again and he crumpled up his napkin, dropping it onto his plate. “Let’s just go, R. I’ve seen enough.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I think staying would be a bad idea. I’m just going to the bathroom, we can head for the Corinth after, if you want.”

He got to his feet and disappeared, leaving Grantaire to finish the remainder of the pizza. He was nibbling on the end of a crust when someone cleared their throat and he looked up to find Jehan standing by the table, somehow managing to look both bemused and annoyed at the same time.

“Hello, Grantaire,” Jehan said, his cheerful tone at odds with the expression on his face.

Grantaire swallowed the last of the pizza crust. “Er. Hello, Jehan.”

“What a weird coincidence, running into you here. I thought that you hated this place.”

“I’m expanding my horizons,” Grantaire said weakly. He and Courfeyrac hadn’t accounted for what to do if Jehan caught them.

“And Courfeyrac, is he expanding his horizons, too?” Jehan asked, folding his arms across his chest. “Because I noticed him ‘expanding his horizons’ at the Musain when I was there with Sebastian last week, too. I didn’t really appreciate it then, either.”

Well, shit. Grantaire hadn’t thought to ask Courfeyrac if he’d already spied on Jehan and Sebastian, but evidently, he had, and he was _bad_ at it. He could hardly blame Jehan for looking irritated right now, but he had to come up with some sort of explanation to stop him from being mad at Courfeyrac. After all, Courfeyrac’s actions were questionable, but that was only because he was madly in love with Jehan. Surely that counted for something.

“Look, whatever you’re thinking, it’s not it,” Grantaire said. Jehan raised his eyebrows.

“What is it then?”

Grantaire hesitated, torn between telling Jehan everything and keeping Courfeyrac’s secret. It would be so much easier if he could just tell the truth and end this whole misunderstanding now, but it wouldn’t be fair to Courfeyrac. He deserved to be the one to tell Jehan how he felt.

But that didn’t mean that Grantaire couldn’t hint.

“Jehan, come on,” he said at last. “You know what’s going on. You’re not dumb.”

“I’m on a date,” Jehan retorted. “I hardly think it’s dumb to wonder why my friends decided to tag along without my permission.”

Grantaire took a moment to curse Courfeyrac for getting him into this mess. What was taking him so long in the bathroom, anyway?

“Alright, it was a stupid thing to do,” he said. “We shouldn’t have crashed your date, I’m sorry.” He paused. “But Courf had good intentions, I swear.”

Good intentions towards Jehan, at least. Grantaire doubted he had any good intentions for Sebastian, who was watching them from across the restaurant with a little frown on his face.

“I like this guy,” Jehan said. “It’s not fair of you and Courfeyrac to come here trying to mess it up for me. Especially not since—”

He stopped, cutting himself short as a blush started to rise up from beneath the scarf wrapped around his neck. Grantaire sighed. That was it; he’d had enough. Courfeyrac might kill him for it later, but they could deal with that problem when they came to it.

“You like this guy?” Grantaire said. “Great. I’m happy for you. If he’s what you want, then go for it.” He locked gazes with Jehan, firm. “But if there’s someone _else_ that you’re interested in, that you’ve maybe been interested in for a while now, then you should know that he’s interested in you, too. More than interested, actually. He’s so stupidly interested that he convinced one of his friends to come and spy on you, against that friend’s better judgment.”

Something flickered across Jehan’s face but his gaze remained cool and steady. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, but it wasn’t convincing.

Grantaire spotted Courfeyrac making his way back from the bathroom and stood, gathering up his jacket. “Yeah you do,” he said softly, inclining his head to indicate Courfeyrac’s return. Predictably, Jehan’s blush darkened at the sight of him. Grantaire half-expected him to hang around to berate Courfeyrac as well, but then he was threading his way through the tables, back towards Sebastian.

“Was that Jehan?” Courfeyrac asked anxiously as he came to a stop beside Grantaire. “Does he know that I was here, too?”

Grantaire shrugged his arms into his jacket. “This is getting old, Courf. Talk to him.”

They left, Courfeyrac ducking behind Grantaire as they passed Jehan’s table.

 

 

 

 

Grantaire didn’t bother going to the Corinth with Courfeyrac after their foray into the world of espionage. After being confronted by Jehan, he wasn’t really in the mood to listen to Courfeyrac ramble about how sad and tortured he was over the poet. So he made his excuses and headed for Enjolras’s place instead, where he knew that his boyfriend would be sitting up with a stack of work to do.

Grantaire hoped that he wouldn’t mind the interruption.

It was Combeferre who let him into the apartment, looking more exhausted than any human being had a right to at just past nine o’clock in the evening.

“Still haven’t adjusted to the hospital schedule,” he explained as he made a pot of coffee. “Would you mind taking a cup of this to Enjolras? He asked me to bring some in before I went to bed, but he’ll probably appreciate it more from you.”

“Sure. Here, let me do it, ’Ferre. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

Combeferre smiled at him grateful as he took over coffee making duties. “Thanks. Hey, do me a favour, R. Keep it down tonight?”

There was playfulness behind the words, so Grantaire knew that he was joking, but the plea in Combeferre’s eyes hit a little too close to home. He grinned.

“What, you don’t like falling asleep to the dulcet sounds of me moaning Enjolras’s name?”

Combeferre groaned, turning on his heel and heading for his bedroom. “I regret everything,” he called out as the door swung shut behind him.

Grantaire finished making the coffee and then carried two steaming mugs of it over to Enjolras’s bedroom, balancing the drinks expertly as he worked to open the door with his elbow. When he finally made his way inside, Enjolras didn’t even register the interruption, too busy poring over a sheet covered in black lines of type and red pen correction marks. Grantaire set the coffee down on the nightstand and then leaned down to press a kiss to Enjolras’s neck. It was only then that Enjolras looked up, surprise colouring his features.

“Grantaire,” he said, capping the highlighter in his hands. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight. I thought Courfeyrac would insist on drinks after your little mission.”

“He did,” Grantaire said, manoeuvring himself so that he was tucked up beside Enjolras on the bed, chin resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I didn’t feel like it. I thought you might want a distraction from all of _this_ —” he indicated the papers strewn across the bed, “—but if you’re too busy…”

Enjolras leaned in for a kiss, slotting their lips together easily as his hand came up to frame Grantaire’s cheek. Grantaire leaned into him, his hands finding Enjolras’s waist. He stroked Enjolras’s hipbones through the thin cotton material of his pyjamas, nipping at his bottom lip.

“I’m never too busy for you,” Enjolras murmured, swiping at Grantaire’s bottom lip with his thumb.

“No? Lamarque doesn’t need anything from you tonight? The world won’t fall apart if you don’t finish these briefs by tomorrow morning?” Grantaire said, teasing. Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him, swiping the paper from the bedspread and onto the carpet below.

Grantaire kissed him again, angling his body so that Enjolras was pressed back against the pillows. Enjolras leaned up into the kiss enthusiastically, threading his hands through Grantaire’s curls and tugging, bracketing Grantaire’s side with his knees and eliciting a moan from his boyfriend.

They broke apart just long enough for Grantaire to yank both of their shirts off and then they were kissing again, hotter and more frantic this time. Still on top, Grantaire moved to press his mouth to the flushed skin of Enjolras’s neck, tracing a path from his jawline to his collarbone. He could feel Enjolras growing hard beneath him, though even if he couldn’t, he would have been able to tell from the hitched breaths of the blond.

Grantaire rested his fingers lightly on the waistband of Enjolras’s pyjamas, toying with tugging them down while he continued to mouth kisses against Enjolras’s chest. Finally, Enjolras made a frustrated little noise and stripped the bottoms off himself, leaving him lying beneath Grantaire in nothing but a pair of tight grey boxer briefs. Grinning wickedly, Grantaire lay another trail of kisses, finally coming to a halt at Enjolras’s crotch. He pressed his mouth to the bulge there, teasing Enjolras through his shorts.

“R,” Enjolras said, sounding equal parts annoyed and pleased. Grantaire ignored him, continuing the teasing until Enjolras was squirming on the bed, and only then did Grantaire tug the boxer briefs off and toss them to the floor.

He took Enjolras’s cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue expertly around the head and making Enjolras swear and fist a hand in the sheets. Grantaire bobbed his head back and forth, a jolt of pleasure running up his spine when Enjolras stopped twisting the bedsheets to thread his fingers through Grantaire’s hair again. Grantaire’s erection was straining uncomfortably against his jeans now, but he ignored it. This was about making Enjolras feel good.

When Enjolras came, he did so with a soft cry that made Grantaire’s knees weak. Drawing back, he pressed a warm kiss to Enjolras’s inner thigh and then moved up to kiss his lips, swiping his thumb across one perfect cheekbone as he did.

“I love the sounds you make when I do that,” Grantaire told him, not even bothering to hide his grin at the blush that suddenly rose on Enjolras’s cheeks. The blond was breathing heavily, face flushed and slick with sweat, looking for all the world like a debauched angel as he lay back on the pillows.

His afterglow didn’t last long, though. A few moments later, he was tugging insistently on the zipper of Grantaire’s jeans, twisting so that he was on top this time. Grantaire ran a hand along Enjolras’s chest while he worked his cock free from his underwear.

He never got tired of seeing Enjolras like this, sinful and desperate and begging to be corrupted.

Enjolras had his fingers wrapped around Grantaire now and he was pumping him slowly, one hand braced on Grantaire’s stomach for balance. Grantaire closed his eyes and tilted his head back as waves of pleasure rolled over him and then Enjolras was saying something, but Grantaire didn’t catch it, too distracted by the sensation of Enjolras’s fingers and the scent of Enjolras’s sweat and just _Enjolras_.

“I didn’t get that, Apollo,” Grantaire bit out, breath hitching as Enjolras gave another tug on his cock.

“I said,” Enjolras murmured, leaning down to press a hot kiss to Grantaire’s collarbone, “that I want you to fuck me like this. With me on top.”

“You want to ride me?”

The image of Enjolras that bloomed in his mind made his cock stiffen even more, and from the wicked gleam that flashed across Enjolras’s eyes, Grantaire knew that he’d felt it too.

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, nipping at Grantaire’s neck. “Do you want to?”

Grantaire stared, heat pooling in his stomach. “Do I _want_ you to? Do you really think I could answer that any way other than yes, oh god yes, fuck—”

Enjolras cut him off with a kiss. “Thought I’d ask, anyway.”

Then he was going to get lube and condoms, leaving Grantaire stretched out on the bed, watching him from beneath heavy lids. When he returned, he straddled Grantaire’s waist and leaned down to press their lips together. The kiss was brief, but searing, and then Enjolras was moving down to roll the condom onto Grantaire’s cock. Meanwhile, Grantaire squirted some lube onto his fingers, and then with a silent question to Enjolras to see if it was okay, if he was ready, he found Enjolras’s hole.

They’d never done it like this before, though it wasn’t because Grantaire didn’t want to. Enjolras had been almost a virgin before they slept together. Grantaire was always wary of hurting him, of pushing him too far, but those concerns seemed groundless now with Enjolras’s hand around his cock and his own fingers slowly stretching Enjolras open.

Enjolras was hard again now, head tilted back to expose the long column of his throat while Grantaire worked him open. When Grantaire added a second finger, he made a low keening noise at the back of his throat. At the third, he moaned, hand drifting to touch himself. When he did, his eyelids fluttered open and he met Grantaire’s eyes with lust-blown pupils.

“Now,” he said breathlessly. Grantaire didn’t need a second invitation.

Grasping Enjolras’s hips, he angled him so that all Enjolras would have to do was sink down. Taking a deep breath, Enjolras grasped Grantaire’s cock and then guided him to his entrance, eyes falling shut as he pushed inside.

Grantaire had to bite down as he was enveloped in Enjolras’s tight heat. He dug his fingers into Enjolras’s hips, probably hard enough to leave bruises, but he didn’t care. He doubted that Enjolras did either; the blond was whimpering now, hand braced on Grantaire’s stomach for support.

“Are you okay?” Grantaire said, watching his boyfriend’s face for any sign that this was too much for him. “Do you need to stop? We can stop.”

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, but it didn’t matter. Enjolras was shaking his head, determination flickering across his features, and then he rolled his hips. He rolled his hips and pleasure exploded inside of Grantaire, making him gasp and clutch onto Enjolras’s waist again. The reaction didn’t go unnoticed. Focused now, Enjolras rolled his hips again, grinding down until Grantaire was reduced to a panting, cursing mess on the mattress below.

Grantaire wasn’t surprised at how quickly he came. He hardly thought it was fair to blame him. He didn’t know a man alive who wouldn’t blow his load at the sight of Enjolras right now, golden-haired, dishevelled and flushed. Enjolras himself didn’t last much longer. As Grantaire’s eyelids fluttered shut and his breathing grew heavier, he heard Enjolras cry out and then collapse on top of him, their hot skin sticking together with sweat.

“Fuck,” Grantaire said, because how else was he supposed to describe what had just happened?

Enjolras laughed against Grantaire’s neck, wrapping an arm around his waist. “We should clean up,” he said after a moment. Frowning, Grantaire wrapped his arms more tightly around Enjolras.

He was right, they  _should_ clean up, but he didn’t want to move just yet.

“Stay,” he murmured. Enjolras made a disapproving noise, but stayed where he was, head pillowed on Grantaire’s chest.

After a moment, Enjolras cleared his throat. “I have a job interview tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great,” Grantaire said softly. “I’m proud of you, Apollo. Standing up for yourself. Making your own way. You’re fucking incredible for doing that.”

“They think cutting me off will break me,” Enjolras confided in him. Grantaire didn’t need to ask who ‘they’ were. “They think I’ll come crawling back once the money runs out.”

“They’re idiots. You’ll show them. You could take over the world if you wanted to, Enjolras, this whole supporting yourself thing is going to be a piece of cake.”

Enjolras tightened his grip around Grantaire’s waist. “I hope you’re right.”

There was uncertainty in his voice, but Grantaire wasn’t worried. His boyfriend would be fine.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Enjolras could do whatever he set his mind to.

 


	8. Paella and Plots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Les Amis decide that enough is enough, and Courfeyrac and Jehan need to stop dancing around each other. Being cut off takes its toll on Enjolras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after an utterly ridiculous hiatus, I have returned with another chapter. Apologies for how long this has taken. I don't really have an excuse, except life happened and I was writing other things. But I do intend to finish this, now that it's summer and I have a little more free time!
> 
> You can find me [here](http://spasmodictricksofradiance.tumblr.com) on tumblr!

_**Cosette, 11:54a.m.** _

_What time is your last class today? Are you working?_

_**Grantaire, 12:03p.m.** _

_Finished at 3, no work on Wednesdays. Something up?_

_**Cosette, 12:39p.m.** _

_There’s plots afoot! Will pick you up after class and explain everything then. Much love xo_

Looking at the last text he’d received from Cosette, Grantaire resolved that she had been spending too much time with Courfeyrac. “Plots”? He had no idea what she could be talking about.

Still, he knew better than to argue, so when his final class of the day let out he waited outside the lecture hall, keeping an eye out for Cosette’s familiar halo of blonde hair. After a moment he spotted her threading her way through the crowd, with Marius and Eponine in tow.

“Grantaire!” she called, waving. When she reached him, she wrapped him up in a quick embrace and then let her hand fall, lacing her fingers with his. “Come on,” she said mischievously. “We have work to do.”

“What’s all this about?” Grantaire asked as Cosette led them out of the arts building and towards the main gates of the university.

“We’re going to our place,” Cosette told him. “I’ll explain everything when we get there.”

She refused to say anything as they walked to the girls’ apartment, and Grantaire couldn’t get Eponine or Marius to reveal what was going on, either. For all of her sweet smiles and gentle nature, Cosette was a force to be reckoned with when there was something that she wanted. She had probably threatened them into staying quiet until they reached the apartment.

When they arrived, Eponine set to work making tea and coffee while Cosette shoved Marius and Grantaire down onto the couch. She disappeared to help Eponine with the drinks and Grantaire gave Marius a sidelong glance.

“Bloody hell, Pontmercy, what’s up with your girlfriend?”

Marius shrugged. “It’s about Courfeyrac and Jehan, I think.”

“Oh, no,” Grantaire groaned, starting to get to his feet. “ _No_. Cosette, I’m not doing this. I’m done with messing around with everybody else’s relationships. I’m unqualified to deal with this shit.”

“Sit down,” Cosette said, reappearing from the kitchen with two cups of coffee. “Don’t pout at me, Grantaire. Sit down so we can all talk about this.”

Grantaire narrowed his eyes but sat next to Marius again, accepting the cup that Cosette was holding out to him. She beamed and then lowered herself into one of the armchairs. Eponine came in a moment later with two more steaming cups and a plate of biscuits balanced on her arm. She sat on the edge of Cosette’s armchair and then fixed Grantaire with a stare.

“What was with all the shouting?” she demanded.

“I wasn’t shouting,” Grantaire said, cringing internally at the realisation that he sounded like a sulky toddler. “I was voicing my displeasure with this situation, whatever it is.”

“Well, next time, use your inside voice,” Eponine reprimanded him. She hid a smile behind her coffee cup. While Grantaire stuck his tongue out at her, Cosette clapped her hands.

“Alright,” she said brightly, “now that we’re all settled, I think we can get started. I asked all of you here today because Marius has some concerns about Courfeyrac and Jehan.”

Grantaire glared at Marius. “Wait, you’re responsible for this?”

The law student flushed, ducking his gaze.

“He’s a concerned friend,” Cosette said. “I think we’ve all noticed that something’s been off with them lately, but Marius lives with them, so it’s fair to say that he’s noticed more than the rest of us. He said that lately they’ve just been tip-toeing around each other.”

“I fail to see how this is any of our business,” Grantaire said flatly. Eponine raised her eyebrows at him.

“Didn’t you go with Courfeyrac to spy on Jehan’s date last week?”

“That was for moral support,” Grantaire retorted. “And I didn’t want to do it in the first place, Courf made me!”

“Oh, come on, Grantaire,” Eponine said. “You can’t honestly tell me that you’re not sick of the two of them pining after each other. All they need is a push in the right direction.”

“I’ve _tried_ pushing Courfeyrac,” Grantaire said, frowning at her. “Short of locking them in a room together and hoping they jump each other’s bones, I don’t see what else we can do. He’s planning on backing off so that Jehan can date that Sebastian guy. He wants to do the right thing, so I think we should let him.”

Beside Grantaire, Marius shook his head fervently.

“We _have_ to do something, R,” he said. “You haven’t seen them at home. It’s so awkward. I’m afraid that if they don’t talk about it, they’re not going to be able to be friends anymore.”

Grantaire frowned. “They’ve been fine when we’re all out together.”

“Because it’s a big group,” Cosette pointed out. “They can focus on everybody else instead of each other. But Marius is right, I’ve been over there a lot and the atmosphere is _not_ good. See, Grantaire, I’m not doing this because I’m looking for something to gossip about, I’m genuinely worried about the two of them.”

She sounded sincere, but a part of Grantaire remained unconvinced. He wanted to see Courfeyrac and Jehan together as much as any of them, but he couldn’t help but feel like forcing them to confront their feelings for one another was a bad idea. Maybe they weren’t ready. Maybe, like Grantaire had told Courfeyrac last night, the timing was off.

Then he caught sight of the worry evident on Marius’s face and he faltered. What would it be like if Jehan and Courfeyrac couldn’t be friends anymore? Everything would change.

Grudgingly, he met Cosette’s eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

“Blind date,” she said immediately. Grantaire raised his eyebrows and she hastened to explain. “No, listen, I think it could actually work. You tell Courfeyrac that you want to set him up with someone to get his mind off Jehan, right? And then he shows up to the date and _bam_ , it’s Jehan!”

“And how exactly do you propose we get Jehan to agree to this?” Grantaire said. “He’s seeing someone, remember? He’s not exactly the type to play the field.”

“Right, well, we thought that we could tell him he was meeting with an editor or something,” Cosette said.

“You don’t think that’s a little cruel? Letting him think that he has an opportunity to be published and then forcing him to go through what will possibly the most awkward first date of all time?”

Cosette frowned. “Well. Maybe we didn’t think it through entirely, but I think the concept is good. We just have to get them in a situation where they have no choice but to talk to each other.”

“Yeah, Courf won’t be able to keep his mouth shut if he’s alone with Jehan for an extended period of time,” Eponine agreed.

“Probably why he’s been holed up in his room the past few weeks whenever Jehan’s home,” Marius offered.

Grantaire thought for a moment and then sighed. “Alright. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

 

 

 

When Grantaire returned to his apartment that evening, he was met with a pleasant surprise; Enjolras, sitting cross-legged on Grantaire’s couch with his laptop balanced on his knees. He was still wearing the checked shirt and nametag that made up the uniform of his new job stacking shelves in a supermarket, and he looked immensely exhausted.

Feuilly and Bahorel were home—Grantaire could hear them talking in the kitchen. He hung his coat by the door and then strode over to the couch, pressing a kiss to Enjolras’s cheek and earning a pleased murmur in response.

“This is a surprise,” Grantaire said, lowering himself to sit on the couch beside Enjolras. “I thought you wanted an early night?”

“I do,” Enjolras said, looking at Grantaire with a plea in his eyes. “But the phone won’t stop ringing.”

Grantaire blinked. “Sorry, Apollo, you’re going to have to catch me up to speed here.”

With a sigh, Enjolras closed his laptop, set it on the coffee table and started to explain. The phone in his apartment—because of course Enjolras and Combeferre still had a landline—had been ringing off the hook all day. All but the first of the calls had gone unanswered, because the miracle of caller ID had alerted Enjolras to the fact that his mother was the one making them, and not with the intention of apologising about her behaviour during her visit.

“She’s trying to set me up with a girl,” Enjolras said miserably. “She’s left messages, I’ve listened to them. She’s absolutely determined to match me with the daughter of one of her tennis friends or one of Dad’s work colleagues. That’s the word that she used, ‘match.’ Like it’s the sixteenth century and she’s trying to buy a bride for me. I think she’s lost it, R. She left sixteen messages today. _Sixteen_. I had to get out of there, if I heard that phone ring one more time I was going to shoot myself.”

“Er, not that I’m not okay with you staying the night,” Grantaire said, “but why couldn’t you just plug the phone out?”

“Because then she’d call _my_ phone,” Enjolras said. “Which I need to keep on me, because Lamarque needs me to run over some details for the rally next week and I’m waiting to hear from my manager about my shift details for this weekend. Plus Combeferre is waiting on a call from someone at the hospital and they don’t have his mobile number.”

“Ah,” Grantaire said, understanding. “Well, don’t worry. You can stay here until Solange stops stalking you.”

Enjolras smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Please, it’s not like it’s a punishment to share my bed with you,” Grantaire said. “Hey. Wanna hear about the terrible plan that I’ve somehow managed to get caught up in?” He paused. “Well. That I’ve concocted, actually.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes. “Grantaire, are you going to do something illegal?”

“Not even a little bit!” Grantaire protested, but he was smiling. “It’s nothing like that. It’s dumb, actually, but Cosette, Marius, Eponine and I are conspiring to get Jehan and Courfeyrac together. It’s all very rom-com-like. Who do you think will play Courf in the movie?”

“I thought you were tired of being everyone’s—how did you put it? ‘Personal relationship coach?’”

“Oh, I am,” Grantaire agreed, slipping his hand into Enjolras’s and squeezing. “Believe me, I am a reluctant participant in this terrible, terrible plan.”

“I thought you said you concocted it.”

“I did. That doesn’t mean I’m proud of it.”

“Alright then,” Enjolras said, amused. “Fill me in.”

It was a simple plan. Grantaire and the others knew that if Courfeyrac happened to be alone for an extended amount of time, Courfeyrac’s dramatic side would come out and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from revealing how he felt—his dramatic side was the stuff of legend, after all, and what was more dramatic than a confession of supposedly unrequited love to a friend who was in a relationship? It was Jehan who was the problem. He was already suspicious after catching Grantaire and Courfeyrac watching him at the restaurant. If they told him that he was meeting up with Courfeyrac, he’d definitely smell a rat.

Cosette and the others had gotten off to a good start with their blind date idea, at least as far as Courfeyrac was concerned. It wouldn’t be too difficult to convince him that going on a date would be a good way to start getting over Jehan. But how to get Jehan there was another matter entirely. Grantaire didn’t feel comfortable with Cosette’s editor idea—it seemed wrong to him to give Jehan false hope about future publication. Then it had come to him in a flash of inspiration.

Jehan was the most sensitive of their friends, and the one who hated arguments and uncomfortable situations the most. Why not tell him the truth, or an edited version, at the very least?

“So we’re going to tell him that Courfeyrac wants to apologise,” Grantaire finished, fingers playing around Enjolras’s. “For all the weird spying stuff. I mean, you know Courfeyrac’s probably going to apologise instantly _anyway_ , and then once that’s out of the way, they can talk to teach other and get this over with.”

Enjolras frowned. “And what if it doesn’t work? What if Jehan still wants to see Sebastian?”

“The way I see it,” Grantaire said, “if this works out the way we want it to, then they get together, and that’s great. If it doesn’t work, then hopefully it’s enough to convince them that they need to move past this awkwardness and be friends.” He gave a frown of his own, sighing. “Look, I know it’s not perfect, but apparently it’s gotten really bad, Enjolras. They’re not even talking when they’re at home.”

Enjolras studied Grantaire’s face for a moment and then leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. His stubble was rough against Grantaire’s skin. He reached up their clasped hands, pressing them to the side of Grantaire’s face, and gave a tired smile.

“You know I don’t approve of things like this,” he said. “But if it’s really so bad that they’re not speaking, then something has to be done. When are you going ahead with it?”

“Later this week, probably. We have to move quickly before things get too serious with Sebastian.”

“Well, keep me posted.” Enjolras yawned suddenly and clapped a hand over his mouth, looking sheepish. “Sorry, I—it’s not like you’re boring me, R. I’m just exhausted.”

“I can tell,” Grantaire murmured, his brow furrowing.

In all the time that he’d known Enjolras, sleep had been a confusing concept for him. Enjolras’s schedule didn’t match other people’s. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he often stayed up well into the early hours of the morning, doing college work or reading news sites or just planning ways to change the world. Since he’d gotten together with Grantaire, that list had extended to fooling around with him or just staying up late to talk. Enjolras’s sleep pattern was erratic, but even so, Grantaire had never seen him look so bone-weary and tired. There were heavy dark circles beneath his eyes, his skin was pale, and even the way that he held his body made it seem as though he was ready to collapse at any moment.

Usually, it was Enjolras who played the concerned role in their relationship, but Grantaire found himself worrying that Enjolras was running himself down. Seemingly sensing Grantaire’s concern, Enjolras shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he said in response to a question that Grantaire hadn’t asked. “I just need an early night, that’s all.” He squeezed Grantaire’s hand. “Coming to bed?”

Grantaire didn’t need to be asked twice. He stood and tugged Enjolras over to his bedroom, calling out a goodnight to Feuilly and Bahorel, still in the kitchen. Enjolras’s exhaustion was evident even in the way he followed Grantaire, stumbling a little over one of the many t-shirts strewn across his bedroom floor. His fingers were clumsy as he tried to remove his clothes and in the end, Grantaire had to do it for him, as it seemed like his current state of mind had caused him to forget how buttons worked. The moment he was freed from his shirt, Enjolras lay back on the bed with a sigh. Grantaire stripped off his own clothes before joining him and as soon as he lay down, he found Enjolras’s body wrapped around his own, clinging on tightly.

Enjolras pressed a kiss to Grantaire’s neck, prompting a shiver, and then moved his hand around to Grantaire’s crotch. Grantaire stopped him though, circling Enjolras’s wrist with his fingers and moving it back to its original place on his waist.

“Not tonight,” he said softly. “You’re dead on your feet, Apollo. Get some sleep.”

There was a long moment of silence and Grantaire thought for a moment that Enjolras had already fallen asleep. Then, out of the darkness, came a soft sigh, and Enjolras’s grip on Grantaire tightened.

“I love you,” he murmured. Grantaire’s heart clenched.

“I love you, too.”

 

 

 

They put Grantaire’s plan into action that Friday, and although it was his idea, as they piled into the restaurant, Grantaire found himself wondering if it was really such a good one. Jehan had caught him and Courfeyrac spying once before—what would happen if he caught the rest of them tonight?

It didn’t bear thinking about.

It was Grantaire who’d convinced Courfeyrac of the blind date concept, and it hadn’t taken much, though Grantaire hadn’t enjoyed it at all. He’d had to play on Courfeyrac’s jealousy, which made him feel more than a little guilty.

“Jehan’s with Sebastian,” he’d said, hating himself a little bit more with every word, “you should really try and move on, Courf. No need for you to be miserable while they’re having fun, right?”

So Courfeyrac had agreed to be set up with what he thought was one of Grantaire’s co-workers. He’d been given instructions to be at the restaurant early, to dress well (though that was never a concern for Courfeyrac) and to be on his absolute best behaviour all night. Grantaire hoped that last one would hold once Courfeyrac realised that it was Jehan he’d set him up with. He was fairly certain that it would. For all of his dramatics, Courfeyrac was smart, and once he saw the poet Grantaire was sure he’d realise what was going on and play along. He wouldn’t be able to resist the soap opera moment.

Jehan was due to arrive any minute, having been told by Marius that Courfeyrac felt bad for how awkward things had been with them lately, and wanted to have dinner to clear the air. Convincing him hadn’t taken much, according to Marius, and Grantaire wasn’t surprised. Jehan hated when things were tense in the group. A chance to resolve that was too good to pass up.

Admittedly, Grantaire’s initial plan hadn’t involved the rest of them spying on what was hopefully going to turn out to be Courfeyrac and Jehan’s first date, but his attempts to convince the others how ridiculous that was had been in vain. So here he was, seated at a booth with Cosette, Marius, Eponine, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta, ostensibly studying menus, but actually peering over at the table where Courfeyrac was sat, waiting for Jehan. Only Feuilly, Bahorel, Combeferre, and Enjolras were absent—Combeferre having been caught up in college, Feuilly and Bahorel at work, and Enjolras at Lamarque’s office. For once, Grantaire was grateful. Seven of them was pushing it. Even one more would make it impossible for Courfeyrac and Jehan not to notice them.

“I still say we should leave,” Grantaire said, attempting one last time to get his friends to see sense. “Come on, you don’t think that they’re going to notice us sitting here?”

“Not a chance,” Eponine said. “Once Courfeyrac gets going, Jehan’s not going to notice anyone but him.”

“Yeah, but before?” Grantaire persisted. “Jehan notices a lot more than we give him credit for, ’Ponine. Last time I tried to spy on him, he caught me, remember?”

“Maybe Grantaire has a point,” Joly put in, biting his lip. “It _is_ sort of an invasion of privacy. I know we all want to know how this is going to turn out, but I’m sure that they’ll tell us, whatever happens. And if they catch us then it might mess everything up.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to thank Joly for proving that he wasn’t the only sane one in their group of friends, but he was cut short by a squeal from Cosette.

“Too late,” she said, sounding as if she was enjoying herself far too much. “Jehan’s here!”

And sure enough, there he was, clad in a faded floral jumper and a pair of tight, teal jeans. The long-haired poet seemed somewhat uncertain as he weaved his way through the tables towards Courfeyrac. Grantaire took a moment to feel guilty for what he was about to put his friends through. This blind date thing had the potential to make Courfeyrac and Jehan really happy, but even if it did, they were going to have to suffer through some awkwardness first. Grantaire didn’t envy them, not even a little bit.

Jehan halted at the table and Courfeyrac looked up, surprise flickering across his features, followed by realisation, and perhaps a touch of panic. Silently, Grantaire prayed that he would go along with it. After a tense moment, Jehan sat, and he and Courfeyrac began to study their menus.

“It’s working!” Musichetta hissed, right as their waiter arrived. She straightened up, embarrassed. “Ah. Hello. Er, could I have the pasta primavera, please?”

Grantaire kept an eye on Courfeyrac and Jehan’s table while he ordered, watching closely for any sign that things were turning ugly. He could see that Jehan was talking, and Courfeyrac was listening with rapt attention, but he couldn’t tell if he’d said anything yet. He didn’t think so. Jehan was one for big, romantic gestures. He imagined that if Courfeyrac ever managed to actually reveal his feelings, Jehan would respond with a Hollywood style kiss and a loud declaration of the same.

After a few minutes, Grantaire began to wonder if his plan had been a bust. Jehan and Courfeyrac were talking, but there had been no kissing. There was no hand-holding, no sign of moist eyes or loving smiles. As he picked his way through his paella, Grantaire thought that maybe all he’d succeeded in doing was getting them to talk to each other, and Courfeyrac would continue to pine from afar while Jehan dated other guys.

At least they were talking, though. That was something.

It wasn’t until Grantaire and the others were ordering dessert that something out of the ordinary happened, and it was so imperceptible that they might have missed it if it wasn’t for Bossuet.

“Look,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of Courfeyrac and Jehan’s table. “Look at Courf’s face.”

“What?” Marius said, oblivious as ever, but Cosette shushed him, laying a hand on his.

“Oh my God,” Eponine said. “Oh my God, he’s going to do it, isn’t he?”

There could be no other explanation for the sudden look of determination that had taken over Courfeyrac’s features, the steady set of his mouth and the line of his eyebrows. He was looking at Jehan with those stern eyes, and privately, Grantaire pitied the poet—even from this distance, the force of Courfeyrac’s gaze was intense. Having it directed at you had to be intimidating.

Grantaire and the rest of his table held a collective breath as Courfeyrac started to speak, looking as though he was choosing every word carefully. He seemed like he did when he delivered a soliloquy, and it occurred to Grantaire that maybe he’d rehearsed this before. It made his heart twang just a little to picture Courfeyrac talking to himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to get the nerve to tell Jehan how he felt.

Jehan’s face wasn’t visible from their table, so it was difficult to see how he was taking Courfeyrac’s confession. All Grantaire had to go on was the set of Jehan’s shoulders and the way his back seemed to stiffen a few moments after Courfeyrac began to speak.

“I wish we knew what they were saying,” Cosette said in a hushed voice. Her hand was still clasped over Marius’s, probably for moral support.

“He’s done,” Joly said, eyes widening. “Look, look, he’s finished!”

And he was. Courfeyrac took a deep breath, looking up at Jehan with some kind of plea on his face, and Grantaire’s stomach clenched. This was it, then. The pivotal moment. Everything came down to Jehan, now.

Jehan’s hand reached across the table and found Courfeyrac’s. Musichetta gave a quiet cheer.

“Yes, baby, that’s it!” she said, unable to stop a smile from tugging at her lips, but Grantaire wasn’t celebrating yet. Hand-holding was nothing. Jehan held everyone’s hands.

There was a tense pause, and then Jehan was leaning across the table and capturing Courfeyrac’s lips with his own. At their own table, Grantaire and the others sucked in a breath. Eponine gripped Grantaire’s arm, squeezing so tightly that he was sure she was going to leave a bruise.

“Oh my God,” she said. “We did it. We _did_ it!”

Grantaire thought about correcting her—it was Jehan and Courfeyrac who’d done it, after all. Really, they hadn’t done anything, and he assumed that this would have happened sooner or later, even without their intervention. But the atmosphere at their table now was giddy and relieved, and he didn’t see any point in ruining their celebrations. Let them think that they were responsible. It wouldn’t do any harm.

Jehan had pulled away now and Courfeyrac was looking at him with a dazed sort of expression, a hazy smile flickering on his lips. Grantaire recalled that same feeling of disbelief when Enjolras had kissed him for the first time and felt a surge of happiness for his friends. Maybe he wouldn’t retire from being everyone’s personal relationship coach just yet. Sometimes, it had its benefits.

“On that note,” he said, “I think it’s time to leave.” The others started to protest, but he shook his head. “No, I’m putting my foot down. We’ve finished our food, and we’ve already pushed it by being here at all. Let’s not ruin their night, right, guys?”

Grudgingly, they agreed, and Bossuet signalled for the check. As they filed out of the restaurant, Grantaire’s phone buzzed, and he unlocked it to find a text from Courfeyrac, of all people. He opened it, frowning, and another came in before he’d even read the first.

_**Courfeyrac, 9:02p.m.** _

_Saw you. You’re terrible at the spying thing, you know ;-)_

_**Courfeyrac, 9:03p.m.** _

_But you’re a REALLY great wingman._

_And then, finally, as Grantaire shrugged on his coat and walked into the cool night air:_

_**Courfeyrac, 9:03p.m.** _

_Thank you._


End file.
